| Dairine "Dare" Vaelinn Blade | |
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| Played By | Delta Goodrem |
|---|---|
| Gender | Female |
| Heritage | None |
| Birthdate | |
| Age | mid-30's |
| Birthplace | Kalmar |
| First Seen | |
| Final Appearance |
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Dairine is a traveler who originally hails from Kalmar, but seems to have settled in Maratha for the time being. Her main job is guard-for-hire, but she also works at the Gray Albatross tavern. Just because she can, most likely.
RP Hooks
- If there's any sort of armed conflict on the streets, Dairine's apt to be glaive-deep in it. Provided she has even half a chance to be involved.
- She's something of a mercenary, a soldier who's available to guard 'most anything. (What Dare isn't is a killer-for-hire.) She's especially well-known among the Kalmarian contingent of Maratha's population, being one herself.
- Last — and far from least — is Dare's side-job: barmaid at the Gray Albatross, a dockside tavern which specializes in providing Kalmarians with some reminders of home. The associated rule, which Dare makes very clear, is that she's only a barmaid and anyone who presumes otherwise will meet the sharp end of her dagger. Usually to the considerable enjoyment of everyone else in the building.
Description:
Dairine is tall. Very tall. Easily over six feet. Almost all of it muscle and bone. She's not the sort of person you want to meet in a dark alley (or in a small room, for that matter), but at least you'd see her coming. Between the pale, if sun-tanned, skin and the long blonde hair, she can't be mistaken for anything other than Kalmarian. That hair is usually contained in a tight braid that falls between her shoulderblades, keeping everything but the occasional wisp away from sea-blue eyes.
There's a lot of scars on her skin. Most across her hands, short little things that speak of sparring battles, but the one that rakes diagonally from her left ear up to her scalp is significant. Somehow, it doesn't really detract from her appearance — which is fairly plain to begin with, but brightened by a combination of good cheer and a devil-may-care attitude. Dairine is usually smiling, if not laughing — but sometimes it's scarier than not.
She always wears trousers; always. Plain brown leather; nothing fancy about them, nor the boots beneath. Her blouses vary, from something equally plain to those frilled and embroidered enough for any female. If outdoors, Dairine is nearly always in the company of her glaive — a six-foot pole of oak sheathed in iron with another foot-and-a-half of curved steel on the end. The dagger at her waist — and its smaller counterpart in her left boot — go everywhere.
