Delaela Asiliari

Appearance:

Del is, by all appearances, a wood elf, bearing deep brown skin marked with scars. Curly black hair frames her face, held back by a pragmatic band around the front of her head, flecked here and there at the temples with salt and pepper. Her 5'9" height is carried well by a muscular physique, telegraphing a piston like strength and precision in the way she moves. Amber eyes are warm and calm, though her strong jaw looks to be no stranger to a stubborn set, every half-smile and weary chuckle shifting the forked scar that bends over the bridge of her nose. She wears modest clothing, non-descript, muted tones, a perfect means of blending in wherever she has found herself this time and promoting an ease of movement.

Del is best described as a thoughtful and straightforward woman, naturally curious and observant to a fault. She can be wary and cautious, but with her age and by nature of her vocation, she has grown more warm and receptive... though this has its limits. Sharp of mind and as wise as one might expect, Del is a calm port in a storm, prefering to work and express herself through the forge and in more hands-on applications, though the observant would note a certain steel that belies her amicability that runs beneath the surface. There is a sharpness to her movements and her eyes that detail experience, and, perhaps, a little uncertainty.

The earliest memory Del has is coming to consciousness in searing pain, dazed and freezing, half submerged in a river at the base of a mountain and unable to move. Her next is of a dwarvish hermit and monk, looking her over as she came round to consciousness once again to ask of her of the incident she could not remember. Her time with the monk, a silent man who helped her to heal from her grievous injuries further rehabilitaed her mind and spirit by introducing her to craft, Though that was many, many years ago now. Now a smith and carpenter in her own right, Del has spent much of her life sticking to the outskirts of civilizations, offering her services to poorer communities and people.

Though this is her life now, sometimes people from the past will show up. Faces she vaguely recognize who certainly remember her. Feelings that will surge to the surface with such violence it takes her breath away. She does not remember who she was, but she knows who she is. Gods willing, that has to be enough.