SA| Dinah| Vagabond| Paladin

She liiiiiives
8D

General

Name: Dinah
Nickname: --
Age: 52
Gender: Mare
Breed: Appaloosa mix
Colour: Seal bay appaloosa
Height: 16.2hh
Orientation: she is the night
Mate:  --

Herd Affiliation: Vagabond- Vindicators
Rank: Paladin
Patron god: Alya, Kaia
Drive: Justice

Parents: Tasia and Andrei
Siblings: Lagertha
Children: Magdalene
Other relations: Eila, Keziah  

Personality

Passionate | Practical | Vindictive| Blunt | Critical | Allocentric |

Passionate: Despite her cool, reticent demeanor, Dinah’s burning passion for her life’s work is obvious, never more so than when she’s planning and conducting a raid. Dinah believes with every ounce of her soul that what she and her followers do is worthy, and that sort of unshakable drive exudes from her like an aura, affecting all she comes in contact with.

Practical: She may be passionate about what she does, but Dinah is not ruled by her emotions no matter how strongly they run. She has long since learned the dangers of acting purely on raw emotions, and makes a point to remove them from her decision making, which can in turn make her ruthless. She cooly weighs pros and cons, be the variables as simple as which route to take or which lives to gamble, and then she acts on the most statistically optimal choice.

Vindictive: Although her calling may be considered by many a noble one, Dinah is not altogether a pinnacle of goodwill and the idea of “live and let live”. Rather, she subscribes more to the notion of “an eye for an eye”, and takes vicious pleasure in ruining the lives of slavers and slave owners. She advocates bloodless raids for their practicality, expediency, and low-risk, not out of compassion. Her hooves and teeth have spilled their share of Aodhian blood.

Blunt: Dinah does not waste time, or words. That is not to say that she cannot be pleasant, but she has no time for dancing around half-truths, or sparing feelings, especially  if time is of the essence. She likes to cut right through excess and formalities, and get right to the heart of the matter. She would make a terrible diplomat.

(Self)Critical: Dinah holds all free equines to her own personal high standard, expecting those who can be better, who can give more, to do so. She has zero tolerance for what she views as any selfishness or self-indulgence, expecting those who are free to devote their lives to helping others, and is openly contemptuous to those wishing to stay out of the dangerous business of a vindicator’s life. And as she expects everyone else to be better than they are, so she expects herself to be better than them; she makes no allowances, no excuses for herself, and is rarely content. She strives, always, to be better.

Allocentric/Altruistic: All that Dinah does in life is to help others; she runs herself ragged to do so, taking time to rest only when her body demands it (for she’s far too practical to run herself in to the ground, as she’d then be of no use). Knowing how incredibly blessed she is to be free, Dinah long ago set aside her personal wants and desires and funneled all of her energies into helping others. She has few if any personal possessions; she may use items, but they are not ‘hers’, rather belonging to any in need.

History

Foalhood

Dinah was born in early autumn to vagabond parents Tasia and Andrei. Autumn is no easy time for a foal to come into the world, and it was made doubly difficult by the fact that Tasia and Andrei were fierce loners, unwilling to join up with a larger group. Thus Dinah’s earliest days were marked by hardship as she was tossed headlong into a vagabond’s struggle for survival. But Dinah was a strong, robust foal even in her her first hours, quick to gain her hooves with bright eyes that drank in the world around her. Her parents were relieved, and proud. She would be well suited to their life.

Winter came early that year to the southern forest of Onea where their family had camped. Although Tasia longed to cross the border from Onea into the much milder forests of Eithne, blessed as they were by the fire god, Andrei staunchly forbid it; it was far too dangerous yet to bring young Dinah anywhere near the bustling slave markets of Eithne. And Andrei refused as well to join with any other Vagabond groups scattered throughout Onea, despite Tasia’s pleas. They needed no horses but themselves, he said firmly. They could trust no horses other than themselves. He believed there was to be no honor among thieves, and well he would know; pilfering goods and food from the least guarded merchants to travel the War Lord’s road in and out of Onea was the family’s main resource. Indeed Dinah might well have not survived that first brutal winter if not for the splendid Apana wool cloak Andrei pilfered from a particularly lax caravan.

But survive she did, and Dinah thrived, growing by leaps and bounds under her parent’s watchful eyes. Too young to understand what her parents actually did for a living, Dinah merely reaped the benefits of the stolen goods and exotic foods. She was happy, and only wanted perhaps for company; the filly could not understand why her parents immediately hid her away and shushed her if strange horse scents carried on the wind. Her young heart longed for playmates, but she made do. It was the only life she knew.

Eventually Andrei and Tasia decided Dinah was old enough to begin traveling with them. Not far, at first, but they began making careful trips into Eithne. Never for long, but they were laying the foundations for Dinah’s life as a Thief. They showed her known hiding places, as well as how to recognize slavers. When Dinah was nearing her teen years her parents brought her for the first time to Onea’s infamous black market, located near the cold waters of Sunken Hoof Bay. The filly did not enjoy the experience; something about the leering, suspicious equines unnerved her, but she did her best to remain calm and stolid, and her parents were proud.

Soon after, they began taking her on raids with them. Only for carefully chosen marks, and Dinah acted only as a lookout, but for the young teen it was exhilarating.

Yes, her parents were careful, but only as careful as thieves existing on the sufferance of others can be, and the precarious balance of such a life can shift in the blink of an eye.

So it was that on one of those carefully chosen raids, right at the border of Eithne, Dinah watched in horror as Andrei misjudged a leap, falling to the ground with a terrible crack. One slip, one broken bone, that was all it took to shatter Dinah’s life. In a span of heartbeats she had gone from a free mare with a family to a slave on her way to Aodh, her mother in shackles beside her. And Andrei, useless to the slavers with his broken leg, left on the roadside behind them as snow began to fall.

At the slave markets, Dinah and her mother were separated and sold quickly. They never saw each other again.

Teenage Years

Dinah was just not meant for the life of a servile slave. Too angry, too rebellious, with too much of a burning sense of “self” instilled in her by her fiercely independent father. She bounced around among a few owners, never staying long in one home. Oh, the scrawny teenager could be beaten or starved into compliance, certainly. But generally a servile slave is bought to make the owner’s life easier, more pleasant, and such owners do not often enjoy having to beat a teenage filly just to get her to tidy a room. There are many far more compliant slaves out there, happy for a roof over their heads and steady meals. No indeed, tall, gawky Dinah with her challenging eyes did not last long in any one home. Until she was 15.

It had seemed as if Dinah, who had grown somewhat of a reputation among the slave markets as a frequent ware, was destined to spend the rest of her dwindling life as a labor slave for the city. She was tall for her age, for one thing, and no one would care about those glowing orange eyes, with their promise of revenge, if she was shackled to a cart hauling rubble. And the overseers would not balk at starving her into compliance; if it worked, great and if she died, who cared, another would quickly take her place.

Standing chained at what would likely be her last auction, Dinah caught the eye of a passing Noble. She laid her ears back at him, but he stopped and looked at her curiously. The auctioneer was just announcing Dinah’s no-sale (and subsequent transfer to city labor) when the Noble suddenly interrupted, and bought her.

Taken to the grandest home she’d yet encountered, Dinah was alternating belligerent and sulky, snapping at her owner, disdaining everything he said or did. She turned her nose away from the Noble’s various other servants and slaves. But her new owner, whom she soon learned was named Peyor. Despite Peyor’s relatively minor status as a Noble, he certainly lived grandly enough, slowly, slowly Dinah found herself relaxing into this new life.

Relaxed and amiable with his slaves and servants, Peyor additionally had no inclination towards mares, although Dinah caught him staring at her many times. When confronted, Peyor only shrugged her off sadly, but later a kitchen servant took Dinah aside, explained in hushed tones that Dinah much resembled in colour Peyor’s late mother, and that was certainly why he had impulsively bought her- and why he seemed content to just have her around his home, bad attitude and all. And as weeks and months passed and Dinah received no repercussions for said bad attitude, she began to think that maybe she had been wrong, maybe this wasn’t so bad…

… until the day she woke to chaos, shouting and crashing, equines running through the house in a panic.

It turned out Peyor had only been able to afford his extravagant lifestyle through extensive betting and loans, and his debtors had finally caught up with him.

It wasn’t until Dinah found herself with a new set of shackles, being lined up and pushed out the doors of her mansion with the other slaves, that she realized how wrong she’d been. How foolish. As she was prodded into the streets, Dinah skewered Peyor with her burning eyes, but he did not meet her gaze. Not out of shame, she realized. She just didn’t matter, any more. No, that was wrong. She never had mattered.

Complacency was dangerous; Dinah vowed she would not be caught in it again.

Perhaps the gods had a sense of humor, for if any role was unsuited to complacency, it was the life of a pit fighter.

Years of decent food and sleep had allowed the young mare to fill out, blooming into a tall, strong, healthy young mare. With her angry eyes, her aggressive demeanor, she quickly caught the eye of yet another noble.. one who, unlike Peyor, had the wealth and prestige to own pit fighters. His name was Balthasar.

Gone were Dinah’s easy days of lazing about Peyor’s manor, but this suited Dinah just fine. She wanted freedom, she hated her captors, but in the meantime… cracking skulls allowed her an outlet for her rage, and no matter that she was taking it out on fellow slaves. It was a cruel world, and only the strong survived.

Adulthood

But Dinah was only 17, a year out from being legal in sanctioned fights. Banking on her strength and fervor, Balthasar decided to invest a year in the young mare, training and feeding her. He had high hopes for her, and money to burn. And, as Dinah quickly learned, a taste for angry young mares.

It was in that year that Magdalene was conceived and born, and Dinah became a mother at the ripe age of not-quite 18.

Dinah does not dwell on that first year. She has repressed all memories, up to the point that she looked down and met large, grey eyes peering out of a brown speckled face.

It was in that moment that Dinah realized her true capacity for violence; there was nothing, nothing, she would not do for her daughter.

This was not missed by Balthasar.  

Once Magdalene was on her feet and Dinah had recovered, her training resumed, and in earnest: she was now 18.

And so Dinah learned to channel and hone her strengths, developing herself into a lethal weapon indeed. She had never had less, but she contented herself with the burning knowledge that everything required of her made her stronger, more dangerous. Her captors, her daughter's captors, Dinah vowed, were digging their own graves. And so she improved.

Finally the day came for Dinah’s first “real” match. She’d participated in several smaller, low-stakes fights only sporadically attended, and had performed well. With her slow but steady progress and Balthasar’s connections, it was easy enough for Dinah to be entered on the roster for a more prestigious, highly attended match.

It so happened that Dinah’s opponent was none other than one of the Crucible’s other rising star: Genesis. Dinah had seen the burning red mare, but never fought her, not even in training. And it so happened that Genesis was owned by Balthasar’s political rival, Azazel.

Dinah, it was impressed upon, was to win. Losing was not an option.

This did not sit very well with Dinah; she was not only insulted, but was also loathe to obey such direct commands, which were fewer and farther between within the pits. That night, Dinah considered throwing the match.

Perhaps Balthasar guessed her intentions, or perhaps it was coincidence, but as he strolled through the slave quarters that night, he spent more time than customary with Magdalene. Speaking to her. Watching her. Touching her. No, Dinah thought later that night, standing vigil over her daugher, losing was indeed not an option.

Hours later, hooves digging into sun-warmed sand, Dinah met the gaze of her opponent for the first time, and realized two things very quickly:

Firstly, even without the threat to her daughter, losing to this opponent was not a good idea. Indeed, something told Dinah that showing weakness to this mare would be a very, very bad idea.

And secondly, Dinah wanted to beat this mare.

The gong had barely sounded before Dinah had launched herself across the arena, sand spraying as the meager crowd gasped; they knew a killing attack when they saw one.

But Genesis met Dinah’s ferocity without hesitation, and the two mares clashed with earth sundering force, blood and hair flying.

It was a long match, but the end found Dinah standing over a fallen Genesis, both mare’s sides heaving as they locked gazes, and both deaf to the crowd. Neither was willing to break eye contact, not even as the doors slid open, as they were called out of the ring.

Perhaps Genesis, still sprawled in the sand (but with the tense, coiled grace of a waiting snake) sensed Dinah’s turmoil, as the appaloosa considered a killing blow.

But for Dinah, there was no doubt whatsoever that if she turned away, it would be the last move she would ever make.

And so they remained frozen, blood pattering gently on to the sand, forelocks tugged by the acrid breeze, until eventually a quartet of Chevaliers marched in and forcibly separated the mares, dragged them out of the ring. Even so, Dinah’s ears swiveled slowly, keeping a mark on her opponent at all times.

And thus the rivalry was born.

With that spectacular win, Dinah was launched in to the public eye, and began to fight more frequently, in heavily attended matches. She fought in handicapped matches, in magical matches, in team matches, but most notable of all were the times she again faced down Genesis. Dinah did not always come away the victor; after that first defeat Genesis was out for Dinah’s blood, and often got it. And the crowd loved it.

Magdalene too had begun training for the pits; while she would undoubtedly mature smaller than her mother, Magdalene had a low, stocky frame that promised to pack a powerful punch one day. Dinah was uneasy every time her daughter was taken away from her, and downright terrified of the idea of Magdalene someday setting hoof in that bloody arena, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that at least her daughter was learning to defend herself. They would both be ready, when an opportunity came. And as Magdalene approached her 14th year, Dinah knew that opportunity could not come soon enough; Balthasar’s eyes had begun to linger on Magdalene in a way that Dinah knew only too well.

Finally, it came. Although there had been more than one Vindicator raid in Dinah’s many years as a slave, they had generally been ineffective, the raiders themselves caught half the time. But this time was different.

Weakened from a fight the day before, Dinah woke to muffled shouting and the smell of smoke. The pit slave’s quarters, or something very near, had been set ablaze in the earliest hours of the morning. As Dinah hastily blinked sleep from her eyes, she could see the flickering light of flames down the corridor

Magdalene was already awake and staring at Dinah from her neighboring stall- Balthasar had long since decreed that Magdalene was too old to share a cell with her mother.

“Mother,” Magdalene whispered.

“I know. Hush.” Dinah said tersely, staring hard into the darkness. There came intermittently the sounds of fighting, though it was hard to tell for sure. The only thing Dinah knew definitively was that the fire light was growing brighter, even as the air around them thickened.

Dinah turned away, gathered her strength, and then lashed both hind hooves out in a powerful kick at the door- or what would have been powerful, if not for her hobbles, and recent injuries. She stumbled, falling hard on her shoulder with a stifled grunt. With a tremendous heave, the appaloosa levered herself back up to her hooves and kicked, and fell. And again. And again.

Next to her, Magdalene was doing the same.

Then suddenly there was a clatter of hooves, and two unknown mares were shouting at Dinah and Magdalene to get down. Dinah was already down, and Magdalene hit the floor without thought- then the stalls had been wrenched off their hinges, the hobbles removed from aroun their fetlocks. Dinah didn’t know how- smoke was pouring in thickly now, obscuring her vision, but she didn’t much care.

“WE’VE GOT TO GO,” one of the new mares was shouting, a Vindicator, Dinah realized. “-WE’RE LOSING CONTROL OF THE FLAMES-”

Magdalene at her side, Dinah ran down the halls, up the stone stairs and emerged in to pure chaos.

“THIS WAY-” one of the mares branched off, Dinah and Magdalene at their side. They had to leap more than one body- corpse?- as they fled the Crucible, taking quick and twisting turns down the alleys.

Then an explosion rocked the night, blinding Dinah, knocking her from her weary hooves. And as she scrambled up again, her head spinning, blood flowing freely, she couldn’t find Magdalene.

Dazed, Dinah realized she was being pushed, half carried along by the Vindicator. Was she speaking? Dinah wasn’t sure, there was this ringing in her ears.

“We- my daughter,” she said, or shouted, or thought. “We have to go back-”

“Can’t-back-” her savior panted.

“HAVE TO!” Dinah screamed, or said, or thought. “MAGDALENE-” then she was falling, falling, falling.

Dinah came to some day and a half later, bumping along in a crude wagon pulled by the most ragged group of equines she’d ever encountered. She later found out she had been fished out of the river half dead, with a hock the size of a melon and a deep gash on her poll.

When the Vindicators made their camp that night, Dinah was at first gently, then forcibly restrained from striding right out of camp and back down the way they had came in search of Magdalene, who was not with the group.

It took three days of this before Dinah finally stopped trying to hobble away on her three good legs. No one, she was made to understand, was getting into Aodh right now. The whole city was on lockdown; she would be recaptured immediately. Magdalene was either inside, or she wasn’t.

Dinah spent several long weeks recovering with the vagabonds, and no news of her daughter ever came. Although these Vindicators offered Dinah a place among them, the appaloosa rebuffed friendly advances. She was biding her time, nothing more. And the day she finally judged her body fit, she simply walked out of the camp, and headed southwest. Back in to Eithne.

But it was as the vagabonds had said; the city was impenetrable; there was no getting in or out without being seen, or at least no way that Dinah, on her own, knew of.

And so Dinah spent days, then weeks, then months on her own. Then years. Almost three years passed for the appaloosa as she looked for her daughter. Eventually the security on Aodh was relaxed, and Dinah made several daring but fruitless forays into the capital. Magdalene, it seemed, had vanished into the wind that night.

Although Dinah never found her daughter, this time was not entirely wasted.Wandering on her own, fending for herself, Dinah began to realize just how selfishly her family of thieves had lived. They had stolen only for themselves, and not always from the richest of merchants. As Dinah thought back on her childhood, she remembered the wagons and strings of inbound slaves… and her family had done nothing to free them. Why?

Slowly, a purpose began to shape itself in Dinah’s weary heart. She could do better, she would do better. She would fight for all the lost children of the world. She would end slavery. She would wipe out the blight on Hireath that was Aodh.

And so it was that one fall morning found Dinah rejoining the Vindicators. And did she ever have some plans for them. No more half assed raids, disorganized looting. They could do better. They would do better.

Present

Dinah’s days are now spent at the “head” of her small group of Vindicators; she has been considered the unofficial leader of the Vindicators for over a decade now. They travel, rarely staying long in one place, although they lurk most frequently in the dense, sheltering forests of southern Onea, where few are likely to find or let alone pursue them. Forays into all but the most eastern reaches of Eithne are brief and calculated; the risk is only worth an assured reward of freeing slaves. But Dinah and her Vindicators can be found all over Hireath, depending on the season and their current travelings. Although Vindicators are not required to stay with Dinah and many take side trips and “breaks”, Dinah remains with the main group, and it should go without saying that the appaloosa affords herself no breaks.

And she is ever searching for news, for word, of her daughter. This new, world-hardened Dinah would never be so selfish as to put her group’s resources into action to search Magdalene out, but none the less Dinah has never stopped searching, never stopped believing that if she’s good enough, if she’s virtuous enough, she and Magdalene can find their way back to each other, and work together towards bettering Hireath.

Extra

-  Dinah has a  great horned owl companion that I’m too lazy to draw yet oops named Oren, and he accompanies and assists the Vindicators in all raids.

- More to come as drawn/roleplayed!