Dia Gald

Red head of hair darkened with henna so she'll fit in around here, dull greyish eyes, bit more tan than your average Tyrisian. A face that places her somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years, though it could be the seriousness is skewing things a bit. She wears her hair cropped fairly short, better to keep it from getting in the way and all that. She's not terribly muscular, but she's a fast runner and has good endurance and a toned body. Dia sticks to leather when she can, favoring the combination of flexibility and protection, but has eschewed most armor while in the warmer climes of Bursia. Here, she tends towards a mix of leather and steel where she can get away with it, fine linen and silks when she can't and wants to blend in. She looks a bit out of place in anything more than that, such as a sari, so when she really wants to blend in she dresses like the nomads and gypsic folk scattered throughout the Bursian countryside. She's not the greatest shot, but in addition to her small collection of hidden blades she does keep a spare revolver in a holster at her side--generally covered with a jacket, or, when she's in Bursia, a nice layer of silk.

Dia Gald is a patriot, first and foremost. Maybe even a nationalist, and certainly an imperialist. She's fiercely proud of her country and all they've accomplished, and believes the way of the world is that every society must put it's own needs first. In her case, that means putting Tyrisia's needs first. She's not exactly racist against the groups which her country has, in the past and in the present, exploited and even enslaved. She does buy a little into that mentality, being from one of the more rural areas, but her time out in the world has taught her a fair degree of sympathy and respect for the other societies under the wide red moon. Just, clearly, not enough.

Ms. Gald isn't a bad person: she won't hurt innocents if she can help it in her line of work, and certainly never children. She is never cruel, and has no desire to do more harm to another society than she needs to. But if someone truly stands in the way of progress, she will generally not be the one to hesitate.

She is not one to joke around much when on a job, though when there is no need to be quite so serious, her southern informalities will reappear and she'll happily share a drink and a boast--usually. Her background has given her an appreciation for the value of education, and she is one of the louder voices of feminism in the Queen's court--an awkward position, seeing as she has a great dislike for the Queen who went and gave up all of Kerria. With her own countryfolk, and when not on the job of course, she tends towards an easy demeanor and instant camaraderie. When on the job, she assumes she can trust them and if she believes they are working for the right interests, she tends to go out of her way to help them as well.

Dia cares a great deal about her family, and when in the southern countryside of Tyrisia she will make a trip to visit the graves of her brothers and father, check on her mother, and make sure that the money she's been sending has gotten through.

Dia carries a hidden revolver at her side, a few daggers, and one fine short sword. Gunpowder's a bit of a bitch to get a hold of in Seboet, and she's not an amazing shot, so she doesn't use the revolver unless she needs it. She's got a little bit of armor tucked away between folds of cloth, or layered over.

She's respectable in a swordfight, favoring speed over brute strength. The girl won't win any contests any time soon, but she's a firm believer in the art of surprise, subterfuge, and turning one's own strength against them. She's learned a bit of herbalism and can put together a fair drought that'll have you snoozing on the floor, whether it be for a few hours or for an eternity. Dia's no artist, though, and not the Queen's best when it comes to poison or assassination. Instead, she's valued for the combination of her abilities which allow her to hold her own for extended periods of time in hostile, foreign environments.

Dia wanted to be like daddy: a proud soldier marching off to battle and fighting in the exotic southern lands of Bursia. She wanted to make her country and her family proud. But Dia? Was a girl. Now, female adventurers aren't at all unheard of, but those girls tend to either have fire shooting from their fingertips, be a hell of a good shot, or have the builds of a grizzly bear. Dia, not fitting under any of those descriptions, found herself watching brother after brother march off to war while she couldn't follow them.

A good thing, perhaps, seeing as most of them never came back. Still, she wished she could have died alongside her father and brothers.

Dia Gald was born somewhere south of Cann, in one of the less glamorous hubs of civilization. Not all that clean, but a big enough town that Dia's family wasn't in financial trouble every day and could afford an education of sorts for their daughter. And a small enough town that somewhere down the line there was an exchange of dowry money, though the whole thing never really went to completion and Dia was left with a vague awareness that she was, technically, betrothed--the dowry had exchanged hands, after all--but somewhere along the line a letter or two went missing and the family really couldn't afford another dowry for their only daughter, so Dia had little choice but to make her own way in the world. A task she would take to with great eagerness, especially seeing as her family needed an extra source of income now that her father was out of the picture. And there was little money to be made in town, unless Dia fancied being a leatherworker's apprentice or something of the sort. She didn't.

She hitched a ride to Cann on the back of a merchant caravan from Bursia, making herself useful by caring for the horses and other odd jobs. Might have exchanged a few kisses with the merchant's son for some extra meals when she got tired of hunting for herself, too. Wasn't really the picky sort, leftovers'd do. She'd watched with stunned silence as they approached the city: carved from the continent's grandest mountain out of pure will, wills that had been broken under the foot of Tyrisian imperialism. It was enough to make a girl already in awe of her country fall deeply in love.

Dia tried signing up for the army in person right away, but this was no countryside draft, and she'd already been rejected from the lower standards back home. Took a few odd jobs, nothing that really made her feel fulfilled. She ended up working as a serving girl in the house of one of the Queen's many, many cousins, training herself in her spare time alongside the amused but curious guards. One wrong turn seven months later, and Dia was mistaken for one of the real guards as she passed the baroness' quarters. Got herself into a little fight, saved the noblewoman's life (or so the noblewoman insisted on, Dia herself doubted she'd really done much to help) and caught the attention of some higher ups.

Five or six years later, Dia was in the employ of the Queen herself. Now, Dia couldn't call herself a fan of the woman--she'd made this clear, politely, when the Queen had selected her--but she'd do as she'd asked nonetheless. Her countrymen loved her, so she'd act like she did, too. The jobs varied wildly, but tended to be the sort of thing you'd keep quiet about. A little bit of subterfuge here, a little bit there...Dia didn't make a name for herself, but when the Queen needed to select two agents to send to Seboet for a special little long-term mission, there were few other choices. If anyone could handle herself in a foreign land, it was Dia.