Rasheeda Malik's page

Rasheeda reaches for her sword, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't carrying it, that she hadn't carried one in years. Frowning, she leaps up, muttering a prayer and pumping her fist into the air. White light emanates, shining over the others, and as it fades, a single rose appears in Rasheeda's hand. "Milani is with us," She shouts to the others. "They may appear mighty, but will fall into the dirt."

Narrowing her eyes, she glares daggers at the red hobgoblin. "If you want to harm someone, start with me, cowardly beast." She claps her bracers together, standing as if ready to accept a blow, but with a threatening look all the same. The flames reflecting off her scars, and the expression on her face as someone who has known pain, who has known fear, and is experiencing neither.

Intimidate: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (12) + 10 = 22

Standard Action to cast Invocation: Justice. Everyone gets a +1 Sacred Bonus to Attack Damage for 1 minute.

Ack, sorry, I'm traveling and missed that we had started!

In a corner of the bar, Rasheeda sits alone, drinking just enough to enjoy the evening. She's been in the town long enough to know all of the locals, and all their old stories, the same one's she has heard year after year. A few of them (the ones involving fresh wounds) even involve her. She tries to grin through those, and ignore the eyes on her.

With the right amount of alcohol, she would tolerate the evening. With the right amount of alcohol, Phaendar didn't feel so boring. 'Penance isn't supposed to be pleasurable' She reminds herself. And really, it still wasn't. She was just doing the bare minimum to keep herself ingrained in the town.

It had been tough to build up her reputation of healer over the years. "If . you're really a healer, why aren't you at the Front?" They'd ask. And when they send their children off to fight, when they have to believe war is so glamorous, how do you tell them you've seen enough of it for a lifetime? "My Queen made me murder innocent civilians" clarifies things, but not in a way that people would ever want to speak to you again. So she'd had to be silent, and keep her secrets, and work even harder to earn their trust.

But, the Market Festival was safe. People would be passing through, and bringing some excitement, but aside from a drunken fall, there ought to be no wounds this day. A genuine grin spreads over her face as she sees Griseo enter. His recovery had been remarkable, and he seemed to really be taking to the town. She didn't know his story, but the wounds were not unfamiliar to her. As much as they were, in ways, an unwelcome reminder, it also pleased her to be mending, rather than inflicting, them. She glances around the bar at the newcomers, noting Lasaral and his wolf had come for their relatively uncommon visit as well. Plus, a bunch of people she didn't recognise.

Not recognising people was good. It was always a fear, even so many years later, that someone from Korvosa would wind up here, and bring the past back with them...

My alias should be up to date!

It does, and it's amazing.

Thanks for the selection! I'll get my alias updated later today.

The glass is gone completely, like it has vanished, or like it was cleaned up?

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

"Being carried on the wind is strange enough." Rasheeda remarks. She feels the shards of glass in her hand to see if they have any weight, curious about how such a thing could have happened without strong magic.

Rasheeda nods, and begins carefully collecting some of the glass. What he would hope to discern from it, she couldn't say. It looked like ordinary glass to her. Though she had long ago learned that there were those who could see many things that weren't there. Placing the pile of glass down, she takes the ration from Sloan, nodding gratefully. Quickly checking her fingers for glass splinters (the last thing she needed in the desert was an infection), she began to eat quickly, surveying as she did. The ground tremors beneath her feet were unsettling, and she longed to begin moving again. "So, what's next?" She asks quietly, her eyes meeting Basliel's.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

Rasheeda pales, looking at the shards of glass, thinking that even while most weren't life-threateningly large, the sheer amount of them would tear someone to ribbons. She immediately understands, on a deep level, why it made everyone so anxious. "I've seen a lot in my time," She remarks quietly, picking up one of the shards of glass. "But never anything like this."

Rasheeda nods solemnly. "We are here to assist. What would you have us do?"

Kn Local: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26

Rasheeda nods, uncertainly. "Somewhat..." She smiles, slightly embarrassed. "The weather was enough of a surprise that I'm unwilling to say my information is complete."

Kn Nature: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9 Sigh.

"Agreed." Rasheeda calls back. "Storm's picking up." She does her best to help out and push people forward where she can.

No, and I don't think I will after all - mostly because I like Agatsu translating, it's giving us a good excuse to bond together.

Rasheeda frowns. She'd heard and seen some things that she couldn't explain during the war, She'd seen gravity behave strangely, or the dead stand up and continue fighting. But rarely had she had an experience that suggested so strongly that nature itself was objecting to their presence. "Flaywind." She repeats dryly. "Yeah, let's do our best to avoid that."

Is there anything we can do to actually speed up the caravans?

Sorry, I've been sick with the flu. I'm enjoying the game, though!

Rasheeda nods. "It would be better to know, especially as we are intending to stay nearby for a time."

Rasheeda approaches Agatsu, trying to appear nonchalant. "I'm sure you've noticed, but our guards seem a bit antsy." She casts her eyes around to make sure that no one is listening to them now. She was sure they wouldn't appreciate gossip. "They keep using this word, 'graevv' - know what it means? Some kind of superstition?"

Rasheeda stares at Sloan's carving as he whittles, her expression changing from curious, to nervous, to proud, as the story goes on and finally reaches despair at the end. For several seconds she is silent as she holds back tears. "So." she finally manages to choke out, hoping her voice doesn't carry the emotional weight she feels. "He was ready to save her until he found out she was different. No salvation for freaks."

Uninterested in any further justification, Rasheeda walks away from Sloan, brushing past Agatsu somewhat roughly, acknowledging neither his presence, nor what he said about Abbas.

Rasheeda moves back towards the caravans. As she passes by Sloan's, she almost tosses the canteen to him, but, noticing his whittling, instead moves closer and places it next to him. "Where'd you learn how to do that?" She asked, nodding towards the bit of carved wood.

Apologies. Christmas and all that.

Rasheeda gladly accepts the canteen from Sloan, eyeing him curiously as she takes a drink from it. It still impressed her that he could seem comfortable in the blistering heat even while covered in fur. Coupled with him traveling light and being able to fend for himself... yes, she had been very impressed indeed.

The notion of an oasis or encampment troubled her. In the desert, one could see a threat coming. Where there were other people, however, one could never be too sure who was trustworthy. It made her feel more tired to know that she'd have to remain on her guard. She capped the canteen, thinking that she'd be better off saving the water. One never knew when they might have to leave in a hurry.

Despite her skin being cracked, and her throat in a constant state of parched that made swallowing hurt, Rasheeda smiled into the sun. While the sand was something she was still becoming accustomed to, she was glad to be in familiar surroundings. Turning in either direction, the majority of what she was... nothing. It was like being back in the Mana Wastes.

Idly waiting for the caravan to begin moving again, Rasheeda wondered if there was a word for nostalgia about something that you didn't actually like. All things considered, she was glad to be out of the war, but there had been something simple about it. One direction, one objective.

She tried to spit into the sand but her mouth was too dry and nothing came out. Instead, she checked her gun for the fourth time that morning, making sure that no sand had gotten into it and gummed up the works. After all, there was no telling when excitement might arrive.

Annnnd Alias is together.