Memories come in flashes... A male figure lifting her, a ritual in a cave, human sacrifices flayed, arms removed, a painting of a 6 armed woman dancing on a pile of skulls a different weapon in each hand. Tali bolts awake in her cot, her tall, ebony, scarified figure drenched in sweet, as panting and a racing heart move her chest as rapid as a hummingbird's wing, the past once again comes barging through her dreams. A single finger traces the first scar... coming from the lower left corner of her left eye hole to the right side of her chin, the large line mars her lips and face, a face which could be described as comely and exotic with out it. The female figure that is dressing by star light is riddled with such scars, each from some battle she survived or beast she's slain. All in the guild knew Tali, she was rescued from a cult at a young age, and practically raised in the guild halls. She learned common there, as she spoke naught but a tongue no one could name when she was brought in, and it shows in her rough tones, word choice, and propensity for jests that would make a 'lady' blush. She began monster hunting young, and seemed to take to it like a bird takes an abandoned nest.
She climbs down from the loft and walks to the forge... She was frustrated and haunted, and both of these could be alleviated by crafting something that would deliver some measure of the rage and frustration that boils in the core of her being to her enemies, or to the enemies of the guild. After a long night at the bellows, and the crucible, the mixture of iron charcoal and bronze was finally right, and the harpoon was cast... it would be let to cool slowly, quenching it would make it brittle and useless, and Tali went in for breakfast, weary but more settled.
She eats with gusto, the graces of femininity missing from her actions. Finishing the hardy breakfast she leaves... she walks out of the guild, and out of town, with out a kind word to anyone. She walks... for two days, unslowed by rain, river, or night; until she finds a small cave in the cliff face... the cave is littered with bones, both humanoid and animal. Her torch light flickers, giving an almost moving quality to the painting she so vividly remember. With every stone turned, and every crack examined, she left, her journal a bit more filled, a cave of smoke and fire behind her... she should have done that years ago.
(I'm getting ranks in both Armorsmithing and Weaponsmithing, so if you want to get some of your equipment made by me, I'm willing to give a guild discount.)
Dice Roll: 1d10
d10 Results: 10