Post by zafirahibnlahad on Aug 24, 2008 11:27:21 GMT
About you
Name: Caitlin but mostly called Caity
Age: 16
How to contact you: E-mail: horse_luva_c@hotmail.com
Role playing experience: A year
Other Characters on this Site: Edward Foster
About your Character
Name: Zafirah Ibn-Lahad
Nickname: none
Age: 21
Country: Formerly of the Holy Land
Position:Outcast/Professional killer
Job: Assassin
Eye Color: Hazel brown
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Height: 5'10"
General Appearance:She is rather tall for a girl of Saracen descent thanks to her father being a Crusader. Her face is rather nice when you see it, which is hardly ever. Her face is almost always covered by the white hood of her assassin's robes. She has medium length dark brown wavy hair which is always worn down. The expression on her face is relentlessly scrutinising and calculating, it never softens for anyone.
When it comes to outward appearance, it is extremely hard to identify Zafirah as a girl due to the clothes she wears. She can usually be seen in white hooded robe thing with light chainmail underneath. The robes have a bright red tassle around the waste and help her disguise herself among priests. In the Holy Land she got away with carrying many weapons but in Britain she decided against it and only carries a retractable blade hidden under a guantlet and a sword.
Likes:
-Notority
-Her brotherhood
-White Horses
-Sharp things
-Robbing people to live
-Keeping the peace
Dislikes:
-Templars
-The Crusades
-People who deliberately break the peace
-Dishonor
-Injuries (she's had a few)
-Epic battles and massacres
-Racism and Segregation
Personality:Zafirah keeps herself and her feelings to herself. She interacts with people only when required but will speak when spoken to.
Never does she show any signs of emotions to her brothers or what friends she had. Zafirah is quiet but extremely fierce underneath. She nevers shies away from a fight and is extremely dangerous with a blade. When it comes to the plights of the Saracens and Crusaders she is indifferent, focussing only on her job.
When on a job Zafirah is extremly focused and thorough and it is extremely hard to deter her from finishing what ever she starts. If you're one of her targets do not expect any form of mercy. As a killer Zafirah is merciless.
Family: Crusader Knight father (deceased)
Saracen mother (deceased)
Background:Zafirah has definitely not had the easiest of lives. She was the product of forbidden love between a Saracen woman and Crusader Knight. The unorthodox family was based in Jerusalem where, until Zafirah was two, they lived peacefully anonymous. In her second year, Zafirah’s father was discovered living with his Saracen ‘wife’ (they weren’t actually married). All Zafirah remembers of that moment was the bright orange light of their humble dwelling being burnt to the ground and her parents screaming. The memory is fuzzy at best and even then she only revisits it in her darkest nightmares.
The marauding city guard murdered Zafirah’s parents and left the half-breed child to die, beating her then chucking her into a hay cart as they left. She lay in the hay, screaming for her parents whose butchered corpses lay bare on the streets. For hours the little girl cried until she was uncovered by a gang of street rats who took her in and nursed the injuries inflicted by the guards. Repeatedly they asked her what her name was but nothing would part the little girl’s lips. The gang nicknamed her ‘Ghayda’ which meant ‘Young and Delicate’ but as Zafirah grew she proved anything but. Never did she fully accept ‘Ghayda’ as her name, preferring to go nameless.
As a street rat she learnt how to thieve, exploit and manipulate. In all these areas she was ruthless and extremely skilled. Even at a young age she was one of the more skilled thieves amongst the other kids her age. Zafirah was always a disaster waiting to happen. As a teenager she made her hatred of Jerusalem’s authority very clear, often attempting to provoke any guards she came across. Her flirting with danger began to put the gang in jeopardy.
Zafirah was promptly banished to live the streets alone, being but off from the friends she grown up with.
Bitterness and resentment against all authority began to build up and she began lashing out at guards and noble men if she found them wandering the streets at night. None were killed but there was fear that the attacks would escalate into fatalities. Whispers of the stealth attacker floated through the city’s gossip channels and Zafirah positively lapped it up. She relished being feared.
One night as she lurked the streets a man attacked her! What? It was meant to be the other way round!
He attacked her and stole what little money she had. Zafirah was furious and she hunted for her attacker relentlessly for many weeks, gathering information from Jerusalem’s citizens until she pinpointed his whereabouts.
Silently she waited in the man’s house until he returned, killing him in the shadows as soon as he stepped through his doors. At first Zafirah thought she had gotten clean away with it, the city guard had no idea who had killed him but someone had witnessed the killing.
One minute Zafirah was enjoying her freedom, the next the world was dark and she was no longer in Jerusalem. As the bag was removed from her head Zafirah found she was in a great library surrounded by robed men. It was explained to her that she was in the great stronghold of the village of Masyaf, the village of the famed and feared assassin brotherhood. It was in the library she was given her name, Zafirah. It became apparent that she was to become one of them.
Zafirah fumed for awhile about being forced to become an assassin but soon warmed to the idea, remembering the feeling of being feared for awhile in Jerusalem.
It took four years of weaponry, literature, stealth, information gathering and discipline lessons for Zafirah to become a full assassin. The day of her initiation into the ranks finally arrived. Zafirah was taken back to the grand library where she’d had many a lesson.
There she was to be presented with the hidden blade of an assassin but before she could receive that, something else had to be taken care of. Gently her left hand was spread out on a stone table. As realisation dawned on Zafirah, she began to pull desperately away as the master raised his knife but it was too late. She clutched her left hand, the ring finger was now gone.
Zafirah was now a full assassin.
Her brotherhood was honourable; the lives they took were those of people who helped to keep the Crusades alive, who threatened the possibility of peace, the Templars. A silent war underneath that of Saladin and King Richard was erupting; Assassin versus Templar and now Zafirah was part of the fight. From the shadows she and her brothers killed many different targets, Saracens and Crusaders alike. The Assassins did not discriminate.
One of Zafirah’s targets took her to the Crusader held port of Acre, the passage between their lands and the Holy Land. She knew she would have to work fast as news reached her that her target had become spooked by the Antioch massacre he’d helped carry out and now feared the retribution of an assassin.
Unfortunately Zafirah was too late; the target had fled over the sea back to Britain. Angrily she prowled the port, seeking desperately a way to get to him. It was not possible to get on a boat alone; the authorities would instantly identify her as an assassin.
A messenger soon arrived from Masyaf to tell her that the brotherhood willed her to go to England and meet up with assassin’s over there. Once again Zafirah needed to get across the sea, but how?
It was in her darkest hour that she found Lachlan Mackenzie, a miserable Scot who was desperate to escape the Holy Land.
As she learned more about him a plan formed.
Putting on the fake tears she collapsed at the table he occupied in the tavern she’d found him in. Sobbing hopelessly she rattled off tales of a husband who abused her because she was half Arab, half Crusader. A husband who had gotten bored of her and brought whores into their house.
Zafirah then stepped up her attack, forcing more tears to flow as she told Lachlan that she was sick of seeing the horrors that the Crusades produced and that she just wanted to escape to a better life. He bought it and instantly Zafirah told him of her plan.
They pretend to be married, she pregnant, and that they wanted to escape to Britain so the child could grow up safely. Lachlan seemed to like the plan and Zafirah left it up to him to secure their ship home.
The two hardly spoke the 4 month journey but still kept relatively close. When they arrived an informant was waiting for Zafirah who told her that her target was last seen in the village of Locksley. Seeing Lachlan’s hopelessness she offered to escort him to the village. They travelled there and soon parted ways after arriving.
Anything else: Has a white mare called Baraka meaning 'White One.'
Face Claim: Unknown Model of picture
RP Sample: this is from a brumby (wild horse) RP, which is my usual area of RPing
As Tingara snuffled through the snow on a rise above the herd his thoughts were restless, always thinking of the merciless beating he’d witnessed the previous night. Garrong, Nevada’s attacker, and his brutality disturbed Tingara greatly but he was also concerned. Concerned about the safety of his mares and foals and the well being of Nevada. As much as he hated to admit it, Tingara liked having Nevada as a rival, he was full of surprises. Tingara pulled half-heartedly at the newly uncovered grass and he discovered that he wasn’t really hungry after all.
He pulled himself away from the thoughts of other stallions and wandered down to the mares. Tingara felt so guilty, he didn’t spend nearly enough time with them.
‘No more excursions for awhile,’ he vowed to himself, he also vowed to give them a change of scenery. The valley was great but they were always there. Tingara ploughed his way through the moderate blanket of snow and found his favourite spot between the mares. He started to groom them, apologising over and over again to them in his head. They were in foal again and they’d need him to be there for them. Speaking of foals, Tingara glanced over to the mob of ever-tireless foals, only they weren’t foals any more, almost yearlings. He chuckled to himself while he groomed behind Binda’s ear, they grew up so fast.
Tingara had noticed something that went against all laws of the bush. He found he missed the company of Ammi the dingo. Her presence had been nice but, Tingara bit his lip with guilt, he had taken advantage of her. He’d never actually told her how much she was appreciated. He shook his head, so many things to take care of, so many things to fix.
Password: oh, lah-di-dah!
Name: Caitlin but mostly called Caity
Age: 16
How to contact you: E-mail: horse_luva_c@hotmail.com
Role playing experience: A year
Other Characters on this Site: Edward Foster
------------------------------------------------------------
Zafirah Ibn-Lahad
Zafirah Ibn-Lahad
About your Character
Name: Zafirah Ibn-Lahad
Nickname: none
Age: 21
Country: Formerly of the Holy Land
Position:Outcast/Professional killer
Job: Assassin
Eye Color: Hazel brown
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Height: 5'10"
General Appearance:She is rather tall for a girl of Saracen descent thanks to her father being a Crusader. Her face is rather nice when you see it, which is hardly ever. Her face is almost always covered by the white hood of her assassin's robes. She has medium length dark brown wavy hair which is always worn down. The expression on her face is relentlessly scrutinising and calculating, it never softens for anyone.
When it comes to outward appearance, it is extremely hard to identify Zafirah as a girl due to the clothes she wears. She can usually be seen in white hooded robe thing with light chainmail underneath. The robes have a bright red tassle around the waste and help her disguise herself among priests. In the Holy Land she got away with carrying many weapons but in Britain she decided against it and only carries a retractable blade hidden under a guantlet and a sword.
Likes:
-Notority
-Her brotherhood
-White Horses
-Sharp things
-Robbing people to live
-Keeping the peace
Dislikes:
-Templars
-The Crusades
-People who deliberately break the peace
-Dishonor
-Injuries (she's had a few)
-Epic battles and massacres
-Racism and Segregation
Personality:Zafirah keeps herself and her feelings to herself. She interacts with people only when required but will speak when spoken to.
Never does she show any signs of emotions to her brothers or what friends she had. Zafirah is quiet but extremely fierce underneath. She nevers shies away from a fight and is extremely dangerous with a blade. When it comes to the plights of the Saracens and Crusaders she is indifferent, focussing only on her job.
When on a job Zafirah is extremly focused and thorough and it is extremely hard to deter her from finishing what ever she starts. If you're one of her targets do not expect any form of mercy. As a killer Zafirah is merciless.
Family: Crusader Knight father (deceased)
Saracen mother (deceased)
Background:Zafirah has definitely not had the easiest of lives. She was the product of forbidden love between a Saracen woman and Crusader Knight. The unorthodox family was based in Jerusalem where, until Zafirah was two, they lived peacefully anonymous. In her second year, Zafirah’s father was discovered living with his Saracen ‘wife’ (they weren’t actually married). All Zafirah remembers of that moment was the bright orange light of their humble dwelling being burnt to the ground and her parents screaming. The memory is fuzzy at best and even then she only revisits it in her darkest nightmares.
The marauding city guard murdered Zafirah’s parents and left the half-breed child to die, beating her then chucking her into a hay cart as they left. She lay in the hay, screaming for her parents whose butchered corpses lay bare on the streets. For hours the little girl cried until she was uncovered by a gang of street rats who took her in and nursed the injuries inflicted by the guards. Repeatedly they asked her what her name was but nothing would part the little girl’s lips. The gang nicknamed her ‘Ghayda’ which meant ‘Young and Delicate’ but as Zafirah grew she proved anything but. Never did she fully accept ‘Ghayda’ as her name, preferring to go nameless.
As a street rat she learnt how to thieve, exploit and manipulate. In all these areas she was ruthless and extremely skilled. Even at a young age she was one of the more skilled thieves amongst the other kids her age. Zafirah was always a disaster waiting to happen. As a teenager she made her hatred of Jerusalem’s authority very clear, often attempting to provoke any guards she came across. Her flirting with danger began to put the gang in jeopardy.
Zafirah was promptly banished to live the streets alone, being but off from the friends she grown up with.
Bitterness and resentment against all authority began to build up and she began lashing out at guards and noble men if she found them wandering the streets at night. None were killed but there was fear that the attacks would escalate into fatalities. Whispers of the stealth attacker floated through the city’s gossip channels and Zafirah positively lapped it up. She relished being feared.
One night as she lurked the streets a man attacked her! What? It was meant to be the other way round!
He attacked her and stole what little money she had. Zafirah was furious and she hunted for her attacker relentlessly for many weeks, gathering information from Jerusalem’s citizens until she pinpointed his whereabouts.
Silently she waited in the man’s house until he returned, killing him in the shadows as soon as he stepped through his doors. At first Zafirah thought she had gotten clean away with it, the city guard had no idea who had killed him but someone had witnessed the killing.
One minute Zafirah was enjoying her freedom, the next the world was dark and she was no longer in Jerusalem. As the bag was removed from her head Zafirah found she was in a great library surrounded by robed men. It was explained to her that she was in the great stronghold of the village of Masyaf, the village of the famed and feared assassin brotherhood. It was in the library she was given her name, Zafirah. It became apparent that she was to become one of them.
Zafirah fumed for awhile about being forced to become an assassin but soon warmed to the idea, remembering the feeling of being feared for awhile in Jerusalem.
It took four years of weaponry, literature, stealth, information gathering and discipline lessons for Zafirah to become a full assassin. The day of her initiation into the ranks finally arrived. Zafirah was taken back to the grand library where she’d had many a lesson.
There she was to be presented with the hidden blade of an assassin but before she could receive that, something else had to be taken care of. Gently her left hand was spread out on a stone table. As realisation dawned on Zafirah, she began to pull desperately away as the master raised his knife but it was too late. She clutched her left hand, the ring finger was now gone.
Zafirah was now a full assassin.
Her brotherhood was honourable; the lives they took were those of people who helped to keep the Crusades alive, who threatened the possibility of peace, the Templars. A silent war underneath that of Saladin and King Richard was erupting; Assassin versus Templar and now Zafirah was part of the fight. From the shadows she and her brothers killed many different targets, Saracens and Crusaders alike. The Assassins did not discriminate.
One of Zafirah’s targets took her to the Crusader held port of Acre, the passage between their lands and the Holy Land. She knew she would have to work fast as news reached her that her target had become spooked by the Antioch massacre he’d helped carry out and now feared the retribution of an assassin.
Unfortunately Zafirah was too late; the target had fled over the sea back to Britain. Angrily she prowled the port, seeking desperately a way to get to him. It was not possible to get on a boat alone; the authorities would instantly identify her as an assassin.
A messenger soon arrived from Masyaf to tell her that the brotherhood willed her to go to England and meet up with assassin’s over there. Once again Zafirah needed to get across the sea, but how?
It was in her darkest hour that she found Lachlan Mackenzie, a miserable Scot who was desperate to escape the Holy Land.
As she learned more about him a plan formed.
Putting on the fake tears she collapsed at the table he occupied in the tavern she’d found him in. Sobbing hopelessly she rattled off tales of a husband who abused her because she was half Arab, half Crusader. A husband who had gotten bored of her and brought whores into their house.
Zafirah then stepped up her attack, forcing more tears to flow as she told Lachlan that she was sick of seeing the horrors that the Crusades produced and that she just wanted to escape to a better life. He bought it and instantly Zafirah told him of her plan.
They pretend to be married, she pregnant, and that they wanted to escape to Britain so the child could grow up safely. Lachlan seemed to like the plan and Zafirah left it up to him to secure their ship home.
The two hardly spoke the 4 month journey but still kept relatively close. When they arrived an informant was waiting for Zafirah who told her that her target was last seen in the village of Locksley. Seeing Lachlan’s hopelessness she offered to escort him to the village. They travelled there and soon parted ways after arriving.
Anything else: Has a white mare called Baraka meaning 'White One.'
Face Claim: Unknown Model of picture
RP Sample: this is from a brumby (wild horse) RP, which is my usual area of RPing
As Tingara snuffled through the snow on a rise above the herd his thoughts were restless, always thinking of the merciless beating he’d witnessed the previous night. Garrong, Nevada’s attacker, and his brutality disturbed Tingara greatly but he was also concerned. Concerned about the safety of his mares and foals and the well being of Nevada. As much as he hated to admit it, Tingara liked having Nevada as a rival, he was full of surprises. Tingara pulled half-heartedly at the newly uncovered grass and he discovered that he wasn’t really hungry after all.
He pulled himself away from the thoughts of other stallions and wandered down to the mares. Tingara felt so guilty, he didn’t spend nearly enough time with them.
‘No more excursions for awhile,’ he vowed to himself, he also vowed to give them a change of scenery. The valley was great but they were always there. Tingara ploughed his way through the moderate blanket of snow and found his favourite spot between the mares. He started to groom them, apologising over and over again to them in his head. They were in foal again and they’d need him to be there for them. Speaking of foals, Tingara glanced over to the mob of ever-tireless foals, only they weren’t foals any more, almost yearlings. He chuckled to himself while he groomed behind Binda’s ear, they grew up so fast.
Tingara had noticed something that went against all laws of the bush. He found he missed the company of Ammi the dingo. Her presence had been nice but, Tingara bit his lip with guilt, he had taken advantage of her. He’d never actually told her how much she was appreciated. He shook his head, so many things to take care of, so many things to fix.
Password: oh, lah-di-dah!
