Aliyah

Aliyah Surefoot

Aliyah Surefoot, upon first glance, seems strikingly...normal.
She’s a pretty young woman with angular features, large walnut brown doe-eyes, and long dark hair that is braided close to the scalp on one side and otherwise falls where it may. It’s difficult to tell exactly what colour her skin is between a substantial layer of grime from the roads and an alternating patina of sunburns-healed-to-tans from a life lived out-of-doors. She’s heavily muscled, but not such that there isn’t a softness to her 6’5” frame, and dressed in uncomplicated loose linens and hide armour, there’s an easiness to the half-orc that the unobservant might find reassuring.
Upon evaluation however, it’s clear that the simple farm girl is something more than that.
It’s written in the faded white lines of scarring that coat her skin. It’s an unease in the way that she slouches, and moves ever so carefully around people clearly hoping not to touch them. It’s the wicked glint of the two-handed scythe strapped to her back as it catches the light, the shaft a long, threatening, bone-like finger.
But mostly, it’s her eyes--long dark lashes caging an angry and untamed beast within, and a promise.
What she’s capable of is anything but normal.