Baritte Bae Daraelle / Kyranian / Blacksmith

Name: Baritte Bae Daraelle

Gender: Female

Age: 29 winters

Race: Human

Tribe: Kyranian

Occupation: Blacksmith

Title: Vindicated Monster

Appearance

Height: 1 Ped, 2 Fores, 1 Palmspan, 8 Nailsbreadths

Weight: 1 Pygge, 6 Hebs, 3 Ods, 3 Mut

Hair Colour: Adlemirene

Eye Colour: Charcoal

Physical appearance:

Taller and broader than her fellow Kyranian women, standing at 1 Ped, 2 Fores, 1 Palmspan, and 8 Nailsbreadths, Baritte cuts a formidable figure in any crowd. Powerful shoulders spread out from a firm torso, giving the woman a factor of intimidation normally only afforded to men. These are coupled with equally intimidating arms, the sturdy muscles there more defined than anywhere else on her body.

The unrelenting presence of her frame is carried over into her visage. High angular cheekbones and a strong jaw set the borders for her face, thinning her cheeks. The sharp plane of her nose cuts down the center of her countenance, the sturdy bridge ending in lightly flaring nostrils and a boxy tip with a slight upward tilt, and separates her large eyes.

Crowned by darkly arching brows, her upper lids hang heavily over her eyes, giving them a droopy appearance as if it is a constant battle for her to keep them open. Both eyes are framed by thick dark lashes so numerous they appear crowded, but her right eye is her most identifying feature. A milky film covers the ball, the iris long since changed from the flinty charcoal of her birth to the pale blue of a fish’s belly. The eye is sightless, the ability lost during a particularly potent seizure brought on by trauma-induced disease, by which she has been plagued since girlhood.

Her mouth, too, can always be found in a solemn expression. Often the cupid’s bow of her upper lip overpowers her thinner lower lip giving her mouth the appearance of stern disapproval, even when her face is at rest. When she chooses to smile, an occurrence more common than one would think, her face takes on a look of impish delight and her lips split, revealing strong square ivory teeth.

Laugh lines have begun to web their way out from her eyes and around her mouth and furrows have started to form between her brows from the hours she spends concentrating intensely on her craft. Her thick, wild adlemirene locks are always held neatly away from her face by a dark red head cloth, allowing her to work uninhibited as the strands cascade freely down her back to the middles of her shoulder blades. The sash also reveals her ears, exceptionally curved and bare of any piercing.

The influence of her being, however, does not mean that Baritte lacks womanly charms. The smoky quality of her mellow voice entices even those who do not know her to listen, if only to enjoy the sultry undertones of her speech. Her hips flare out from a respectably sized waist, matching the width of her shoulders and causing her to walk with a rolling gait. Her legs, while fit, are much softer than her arms, and with the exception of her left knee are unblemished by scars, surely making them her most attractive feature had she the desire to show them off.

Supple elken skin and a thin layer of fat sheathe her muscled frame, strong from years of bending unruly metals to her iron will. Except on her large palms and fingers where her craft has roughened the skin with tough callous, Baritte’s flesh is smooth and lissome to the touch. The rich brown of her skin is marked only by a rounded scar above her knee and a tattoo in black and white ink of a stag head and star gem, the symbol of the Kyranian people, located on her back just beneath her neck. Though the tattoo was originally meant for young Kyranian men when they came of age, Baritte wears the mark with pride, representing her deceased father and her heritage as one of the few remaining pureblooded Kyranians.

Clothing:

Baritte is a firm believer in simplicity and functionality in all aspects of her life. Her everyday apparel consists of a loose-fitting, sleeveless, black linen tunic, a wide goat-hide belt with loops, notches and slots for various tools and pouches, worn buckskin breeches, and heavy hide boots, scuffed from years of tramping across the region.

Though her clothing is frayed, Baritte is careful to always appear tidy, even after moons on the road; a preference common in Kyranian culture. In her pack she also carries a long-sleeved tunic the color of viperene sand and a large woolen charcoal colored traveling cloak, which has been treated with a combination of various oils and seals enabling it to repel water.

She wears no jewelry, failing to see the appeal of something that lacks function, and only carries with her things of use. In her possession are a thick, treated leather forger’s apron and durable hide gloves stained black from her trade. Both of these normally remain in her pack but she is quick to retrieve them when there is work to be done.

Personality

Baritte is a very dedicated and hardworking woman, always doing her best and only rarely allowing herself to be idle. She takes pride in her work and expects nothing short of perfection in her creations, resulting in high quality metal work.

As a result, Baritte resents laziness and apathy in others and is not afraid to firmly voice her displeasure. She also is uninterested in helping those who do not help themselves. She expects everyone to pull their own weight and when someone begins to slack, she is the type to remorselessly cut them loose.

Fierce pride in her Kyranian heritage becomes clear to any who spend large portions of time in her presence. Baritte loves her people and culture and any slight towards them is sure to throw the speaker from her good graces. Alternatively, she is very accommodating to those who know of her culture and will happily talk of her people if asked.

Baritte is a minimalist in most aspects of her person, preferring to leave the arms she forges simple and unadorned, like her speech. She feels gossiping is a waste of time and energy and as a result is always blunt and direct in her speech, never sugar coating her words or saying things she doesn’t mean. Not to say that she doesn’t talk, but she never feels the need to use words to fill up silences when there is truly nothing that needs to be said.

Baritte is extremely loyal to and protective of her loved ones. Although it takes a while to earn Baritte’s trust, once you are in her confidence it is very difficult to fall from grace. Baritte thrives on a few very deep and intimate relationships rather than countless friends, but still is a social creature and requires the feeling of closeness and belonging with others to remain happy. Her family is her number one priority and she is unforgiving towards those who would harm anyone close to her.

Emotionally Baritte is an outward stoic but in actuality feels pain, joy, sadness, anger and all other emotions very deeply. Though she has for the most part learned to control and mask her passion, when the emotions occasionally float to the surface they are explosively powerful before subsiding back into dormancy.

The control of her feelings has also brought Baritte the great gifts of patience and acceptance. Baritte is never bothered when having to wait in line or having to tell a forgetful merchant directions for the umpteenth time, a quality that makes her an excellent listener and mediator when there is need.

Strengths

Physically strong: Baritte’s body is toughened with thick muscle from years of working in a forge. This, in addition to the fact that her only mode of transportation anywhere is her legs, leads to a powerful frame with high stamina capable of dealing serious damage when the need arises.

Highly intelligent: Though uneducated, Baritte has a very quick mind. Not easily fooled and able to work its way through problems rapidly and logically it is a great boon to the smith, enabling her to escape from many a sticky situation.

Skilled at her craft: Baritte is a wonderfully capable blacksmith. Having absorbed the techniques developed in her family by generations upon generations of smiths she is practiced in a variety of metals as well as a multitude of various products, ranging anywhere from pots and pans to swords which are her forte. Though not speedy, she is efficient and her attention to detail leads to near-flawless metal work.

Patient: Patience is Baritte’s most useful virtue. It allows her to not only produce better weapons and tools but also to better deal with the world around her. An able listener and negotiator she is often able to mediate disputes and settle them before they turn to violence, though when violence does surface it is highly unusual for her to be the aggressor.

Good judge of character: Early on in a relationship Baritte is able to determine what sort of person the other party is. This is a very useful skill, enabling her to avoid those who intend her harm and discover those who are able to be trusted. Baritte is also very skilled at telling when someone is lying, only ever being tricked by the most silver-tongued falsifiers, and even that is rare.

Weaknesses

Despises Centoraurians: Baritte fosters a relentless hatred towards the horse-people, formed after a Centoraurian soldier murdered her father. She refuses to deal with them, avoiding them like the plague, and when she is forced into situations with them is openly aggressive and hostile. Needless to say this does not make her many friends and can lead to unneeded conflict and unfortunate situations.

Terrified of horses: Due to a traumatizing incident when Baritte was a girl, she has developed a paralyzing phobia of horses. She cannot be in the near vicinity of one of the beasts, their presence resulting in Baritte becoming unable to move or speak and occasionally triggering a seizure. As a result it is impossible for her to ride one, severely limiting the modes of transportation available to her. This also complicates her life because, due to her limited resources, selling horseshoes is one of her main sources of income.

Disabled: Because of the same incident, Baritte's leg was severely injured. Once shattered her knee never regained it's full range of motion, leaving her with a permanent limp. In addition to slowing her down, the limb and joint cause her almost constant pain.

Partially deaf: It is understandable that years of crafting metal in a forge would cause some hearing loss. While not completely deaf, Baritte is unable to pick up more subtle sounds and noises, making it easier for other to sneak up on her and almost impossible for her to eavesdrop.

Bounty on her Head: As a result of her taking revenge against her father's killer Baritte has earned a thoroughly substantial bounty of 1,000 silverbards on her head. This is enough money to make anyone sit up and listen and because of her eye, size, and demeanour she tends to stand out in a crowd. Baritte must always be on guard lest someone recognize her and attempt to collect the reward, which given the opportunity anyone would try to do.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder: Baritte has been plagued by this condition since her father was brutally murdered in front of her at the age of 10. In addition to the insomnia, which she treats with herbs, periods of elevated stress can cause Baritte to suffer from seizures. Almost random in nature and, to the best of her knowledge, impossible to control, Baritte lives in constant fear of an attack. When she does experience a seizure she loses all control and symptoms normally include: foaming at the mouth, violent spasmatic thrashing, and eventual unconciousness. Due to her great strength Baritte is a danger to herself and those around her when suffering from an attack and is extremely vulnerable when unconcious after a seizure.

Blind in one eye: Baritte’s right eye is completely sightless from damage received during a seizure. Besides the obvious limitations that such an injury poses, the milky discoloration is off-putting to many people causing them to be nervous around her.

History

Baritte was born in the dead of winter in the town of Naios to a young Kyranian couple. Her mother, Daraelle Coririn, was of astounding beauty, if a bit simple of mind. Small and delicately featured with huge dark eyes and surprisingly light skin for a pureblooded Kyranian she was the envy of all women and the desire of all men. Her husband Dyaratt Jalttinos was the opposite. Standing just under two peds and possessing a hardened, strict face that few women could love; the dark-skinned barrel-chested man intimidated many, despite his gentle heart.

While well-loved by both parents, as Baritte grew she favored her father more and more. This was just as well, for when Baritte was but 4 winters old Daraelle gave birth to a sickly baby boy, whom she named Tyrian. Tyrian’s care monopolized Daraelle’s time so Baritte began to spend her days with her father in his forge. The young girl showed surprising maturity and interest in the craft and bit by bit Dyaratt began to give her small projects to occupy herself.

Baritte grew quickly and by the age of 10 was large enough to accompany her father on his seasonal trip to Deurenshill on the outskirts of Ximax; it would be the first time Baritte left Naios. Winter had come early that year, and the pair was forced to struggle through the freezing temperatures towards the market, their mule dragging a cart full of their wares. Once arrived in Ximax their trip paid off.

Dyaratt was already established there as a blacksmith of skill so there was plenty of demand, and the customers only grew in number when a young, sparkling eyed salesgirl began to hawk the wares. For the first time in memory Dyaratt had sold all of his merchandise and his pouch was bursting with coin. Ecstatic, the pair decided to spend a little of their hard earned coin and wandered around the merchant district.

While walking the pair happened to pass by a carpenter. In addition to furniture the man had an assortment of polished wood canes and walking-sticks of varying sizes. Thinking of his son, for whom mobility was a struggle, Dyaratt purchased a cane about a ped long, thinking he would grow into it. After the purchase he decided to celebrate their success and located one of the less shady taverns before taking Baritte inside.

In the midst of their merry-making (Baritte was allowed only a ‘root beer’) a Centoraurian officer began to harass the bar-maid behind the counter. Dyaratt, sensing the woman’s distress, intervened. The pale eyed Centoraurian whirled on the smith, obviously drunk, and flew into a rage, cursing him and his family and beating him repeatedly. In defense, Dyaratt struck out and sent the smaller man flying. More curses about the filthiness of Kyranian blood were spewed and the officer drew his sword, murder in his eyes. At this time, the tavern’s guards interceded, forcing him to stay his blade, and Dyaratt, considerably shaken, collected Baritte and left. As she was pulled from the tavern Baritte made eye-contact with the officer, and what she saw filled her with dread.

The pair fled the city, deciding against staying the night in an inn. Baritte walked until she could walk no further; then her father placed her on the mule and dragged them forward until it was almost dark. They made camp a little ways off the road and ate a modest dinner of a few rolls purchased earlier that day before curling around a small fire for warmth.

A little after midnight Baritte woke to the sound of horses. In the bright moonlight she could see figures in armor tearing down the road, barreling right for them. Her father, terror coloring his face, scooped her up in his arms and ran, but there was nowhere to hide for leagues. Baritte watched over her father’s shoulder as the men slaughtered the mule, its blood like black rain in the distance. Then the men were gaining on them, riding close enough that Baritte was beginning to be able to make out faces, and Dyaratt set his daughter down and told her to run.

Baritte reluctantly tore off down the road, glancing over her shoulder to see if her father was following. She stared, horrified, as the Centoraurian officer, the man with the pale eyes, raised his blade, still wet with the mule’s blood, and cleaved Dyaratt’s head from his shoulders in one fell swoop, instantly ending her father’s life.

Her scream ricocheted across the flat land, catching the attention of the men. Baritte ran as hard as she could, but she was no match for the horses. All of a sudden one of the beasts was upon her; she spun around, raising her arms to shield her head. The horse reared and pawed, its powerful hoof striking her, landing squarely on her knee, instantly shattering the cap and fracturing her shin until the bone poked from her flesh. She fell hard and didn’t get up, pretending to be dead.

She sensed the man with the pale eyes dismount and stand over her, she didn’t dare breath. She didn’t make a sound, not even as he raped her; neither did she move when the other men joined their superior. After a time the men were finished and got back on their horses and rode away, taking the money and the head of her father with them.

Eventually Baritte crawled back to her father's body. She wept over his headless form, beating his still chest in agony. To her surprise she felt something hard. Reaching inside his long traveling coat Baritte found the cane tucked inside, secured with a few strings to the inner lining. She tore it away and after another bout of weeping dug a shallow grave with her bare hands, her fingers bloody from the rocky soil. As she finished covering him with stones snow began to fall, harsh and cold. It was in this weather, alone and injured, that Baritte struggled with only the aid of the stick the leagues back home to her mother.

Daraelle was overcome with grief for her husband and as such did not notice the shift in her daughter’s behavior when she returned. Baritte did not speak of what had happened after Dyaratt’s murder, and forbad the healer who treated her from mentioning it, shoving the horrifying memories deep into the recesses of her mind. This repression, while a form of protection, set into motion a severe disorder that would plague Baritte for the entirety of her life. In addition to the emotional damage, Baritte's knee would heal poorly, forever denying her easy mobility. While still able to walk, the girl became much slower and completely dependent on her cane when required to travel a distance.

The family, due to financial instability, was denied the normal period of mourning. Daraelle began to work as a maid in a noble family’s household, spending much of the day away from her children. Once sufficiently healed Baritte hired herself out as a scullion, assisting the local housewives with their cooking and kitchens, and the family was able to get by, but soon Baritte was required to stay home in order to tend to the poorly Tyrian and the family’s expenses became a burden too large for Daraelle to bear.

In desperation Daraelle sent her children, Baritte now almost twelve and Tyrian eight, to the home of Dyaratt’s father in a small village on the outskirts of the Shivering Wood. The journey was exceedingly difficult for the children, with Tyrian in a near constant state of poor health and Baritte still greatly pained by her leg injury, but they eventually found their way to the village by using the crude map their mother had drawn them.

And, as luck would have it, Jalttinos was not yet dead. The wizened man was at first confused by the children’s presence but quickly noticed the resemblance they shared with his son and recognized them for what they were. He listened carefully as his grandchildren told him their story and wept silently when he earned his only son had been killed.

In the end he agreed to take them in and Tyrian and Baritte began living in Jalttinos’s home. Not wishing to be a bother Baritte quickly shouldered the housework, occupying all of her time with constant toil. Jalttinos became particularly fond of the girl and her hard-working nature, seeing much of himself in her dedication and pride for her people.

As such, it did not surprise him when she, on her thirteenth birthday, requested to have the stag head and star gem tattooed on her back, in keeping with the ancient rite of passage. He accompanied the girl to the home of a man in the village practiced in the timeless art and sat with her as the crest was ingrained into her smooth flesh, offering support as she underwent the pain without so much as a whimper.

This last act convinced Jalttinos of what he had to do. Though retired, the aged man reopened his forge, dusted off his hammer and took Baritte on as an official apprentice. Strong and tall for her age, Baritte was a fast learner, picking up where she had left off with her father and quickly excelling beyond the expected abilities of one so new to the craft. Jalttinos was a much stricter teacher than her father, pushing her improve faster than she thought possible and punishing her when she ruined a project.

Baritte’s desire to master the craft led her to often work days on end in the forge, a feat made easier by severe insomnia. And for a time, it was only the insomnia that affected her, but this blissful period lasted only until her fifteenth year of life. While returning from retrieving Tyrian’s medicine from the local healer, Baritte found herself directly in the path of a wagon led by two large horses. The horses reared back at Baritte's sudden appearance and the girl herself was struck by a particularly violent seizure. She fell to the ground, sprawling, her legs twisting and writhing at impossible angles, spittle beginning to collect at the corners of her mouth as she twisted and contorted. Her eyes remained open and directed upward, locked directly upon the midday sun. Luckily thick ropes of hair had fallen across the left side of her face, shielding it from the potent rays, but her right eye was completely exposed, leaving the eye completely blind within a matter of minutes.

Terrified by her almost possessed behaviour, the peasant atop the cart rode speedily away. Many hours passed before the villagers eventually found her, her seizure having subsided. They brought her to the healer, hoping to salvage her eye, but to no avail. The healer interrogated Baritte regarding her symptoms, diagnosing her with a trauma-induced illness and prescribing her various herbs, the most potent of which being the trinity herb.

With the aid of medicine Baritte was able to essentially alleviate her insomnia, but the healer was unable to prescribe anything for her with regards to her seizures, only able to suggest that she avoid horses as much as possible. Even with this in mind Baritte began to have an average of a dozen seizures a year, occasionally triggered by things as small as Tyrian popping out from behind a tree to surprise her.Though exceedingly upsetting, her affliction gave her common ground with her sickly brother that allowed them to grow close as the years passed.

As Baritte developed into maturity she did not seek to start a family of her own as the other women did, instead burying herself in the study of her craft. She became very skilled and by her twenty-fourth winter she began to receive occasional commissions from higher places, especially for swords. The wealth she accumulated allowed Jalttinos to once again retire and Tyrian, who ironically enough had long since apprenticed himself to the town healer, to buy supplies and dabble in various poultices and potions.

Baritte’s life maintained this stable rhythm until her twenty-eight summer. Tyrian, truly her only friend besides Jalttinos and the healer, had found a blushing Kyranian bride and moved out of his grandfather’s home. Feeling unnecessary in such a small town when it already possessed a capable healer, he and his wife moved back to Naios, hopeful about setting up their own practice.

After a moon, however, Tyrian returned with the news that Daraelle, their mother with whom they had not spoken in over a decade, was to remarry. The man was rich, a landgraven no less, and a Centoraurian, but Baritte choked back her disgust and agreed to attend the wedding at her mother’s request. Baritte packed a travel bag and kissed Jalttinos, who was by this time far too old to travel, goodbye before joining her brother on the long walk to the wedding.

Once they arrived in Horth, the home city of the groom, they were greeted by Daraelle. At the sight of her mother Baritte broke down, weeping like a babe, to the shock of the older woman who had only ever seen her stoic side. After a time Daraelle finally calmed her daughter down, desperately happy to see her two children once again. She was still intensely beautiful, if a bit aged, and dressed in finery the likes of which Baritte had never seen, presumably gifts from her fiancé. There was a joy in her eyes that Baritte had not seen often even when her father was alive and a youthful spring in her step as she showed them to their rooms.

After getting settled Daraelle brought her two children to meet the groom. He was in the study of the grand house and stood from behind the great desk at which he sat as they approached. Baritte, who had only just begun to reconcile herself with the idea of her mother marrying a Centoraurian, froze in horror. Her eyes locked with the pale eyes of the man, the same eyes that had glittered with delight as her father was decapitated. The same man who had stolen her innocence.

Baritte held back bile as the man slipped his arm lovingly around Daraelle’s waist, kissing her dark hair softly. Baritte’s finger’s clenched and unclenched at her sides, her eyes narrowed to slits, her lips thin with fury. The man introduced himself as Gregor Melhound, his voice suave, his bearing aristocratic. It was clear he did not recognize Baritte as that girl from almost two decades previous, didn’t realize the woman he held in his arms was the wife of the man he had murdered. Baritte wanted to break his pale neck.

But then Baritte looked at Daraelle. She was happy. How many years had it been since that had last happened? Baritte chewed her lip angrily, conflicted. It would kill her mother to learn that the man she now loved had taken the life of her husband. Baritte sighed and decided. Even though it killed her she plastered a fake smile on her lips and shook the man’s hand, her flesh crawling where he touched her. She was surprised by the fear that flew through her at the contact, by how terror gripped her at his proximity. She pulled away, still smiling. She would leave that night.

When the moon was high Baritte crept from her room and down the hall, her pack secured over her shoulder. She quietly made her way down the stairs and towards the door. She paused, her fingers on the handle, deciding to grab some provisions from the kitchen. She had just stuffed a loaf of bread and a few apples into her pack when she heard a noise and turned. To her shock and revulsion Gregor was there, already deep in a mug of wine, his disgustingly pasty skin red from the heady draught.

He rose and drunkenly stumbled towards her, placing the nearly empty mug on the counter beside them. He asked her where she was going, Baritte didn’t answer, attempting to ignore him entirely. Annoyed, he grabbed her arm. Baritte ripped her arm away from his grip, snarling, the wrath she felt plain in her face, her eyes, the set of her lips. His eyes focused on her lips and he staggered a little, saying something about her looking like her mother before he kissed her.

Baritte tasted wine and tongue and attempted to shove him away, but he resisted. It was then she snapped. Her hand reached out and found the heavy earthen-ware mug, smashing it against the side of his head. He fell to the ground, blood pouring from the wound. Before he could run or call for help Baritte was upon him, a flurry of fists and teeth. She lost herself in the violence, pleasure and adrenaline rushing through her veins as she avenged her father, avenged herself.

Her mother’s horrified scream broke her bloodlust. Baritte stared at what she had done. The man was no longer recognizable. With her bare fists she had crushed his skull, splattering brain matter across the floor. Nearly all of his limbs were broken and lay at impossible angles, his fingers crushed, his rib cage smashed inwards. Splinters of bone protruded from his death-pale flesh and his pale eyes had been torn out, now gazing grotesquely out of a pile of gore and teeth.

Bathed crimson Baritte pulled herself off of the mutilated corpse and backed away from what she had done. She felt oddly calm considering she had just taken someone’s life and slowly turned to face her mother. Daraelle’s eyes, filled with fury and terror, met her daughter’s own peace filled orbs. The woman shook, gripping her nightclothes tightly to her small frame, her voice filled with accusation. “Monster.”

With that the elder woman ran for help and Baritte collapsed, suddenly weary. After a few moments she realized the danger she was in and grabbed her pack, moving as fast as she could away from the village. She reached Jalttinos’s house a few days before the soldiers arrived, proof that Tyrian had attempted to protect his sister. He opened the door to find her covered in gore and sweat, her chest heaving from days without rest. Wordlessly he took her inside and let her bathe, then followed her to her room as she assembled a large sack.

She told him everything, beginning with her trip with her father and ending with Gregor’s death. He listened wordlessly, taking it all in. Eventually he spoke, agreeing that she should leave for her own protection. He assisted her in her packing and insisted she stay one night in order to recuperate. When dawn broke Baritte shouldered her pack and headed for the door. On the way she found Jalttinos sitting by the hearth, heating a kettle of water, two packages by his side.

He handed her a cup of daylong flower tea and the first package. Baritte chuckled at the candy she found inside, the first time she had smiled in days. Then Jalttinos handed her the second package. It was long, thin, and heavy. Carefully Baritte unwrapped the hide. Inside was a sword, its dark metal glinting dully in the low light of the hearth-coals. Jalttinos explained to her that the sword had been in the family for generations, having been forged by an ancestor who had achieved the title of master-smith. Shaking with emotion Baritte accepted the sword.

For a while the two of them just stood there and embraced, both knowing this would likely be the last time they did so. Baritte cried silently, her tear drops like diamonds in her grandfather’s silver hair. After a time they broke apart. Baritte left, glancing back only once as she left the village, just in time to see her mentor fall to his knees and cry.

Since then Baritte has become a wanderer, tramping across the continent with no particular destination. As it turned out, not only was Gregor a landgraven, he was also the favored cousin of the Thane of Xaramon. He has placed a bounty of 1,000 silverbards on Baritte’s head and spread wanted posters throughout most of Santharia. The ogre of a woman who brutally murdered a blameless man on his wedding night has become a well-known story throughout Santharia and Baritte must always be wary of those she meets, for who knows whether they will be the one to turn her in?

Weapons

Ancestral sword:

Baritte possesses a sword forged by her great-great-great grandfather, the master smith Rastaric Tyribaltt. The sword was crafted from a single piece of black iron, making it relatively brittle. To counteract this weakness the blade, 8 nailsbreadths and 4 grains wide, is tempered and relatively short, perhaps 3 or 4 nailsbreadths under a ped. Subtle notches in the iron serve as a cross guard and prevent the fingers from slipping onto the sharp blade. The handle is approximately 1 fore and 2 palmspans in length and is tightly wrapped in deer hide, the leather having been replaced by Baritte’s grandfather. The pommel flares almost imperceptible out from the handle and in the flat base the Kyranian stag and stargem have been printed deeply into the iron.

Knife:

In addition to this Baritte possesses a small, the blade being only 1 palmspan in length, all purpose knife used for eating and other mundane activities, but in theory it could be used in defense should the need arise.

Cane:

Baritte still has in her possession the polished red oak cane purchased by her father so many years ago. While worn it is still sturdy and vital to Baritte's locomotion when she wishes to travel more than a small distance. While as of yet not used towards this purpose, the cane could be used as a sort of club should the need arise and the iron spike Baritte affixed to the end (towards the goal of allowing the cane a better purchase in the ground) could also potentially prove to be dangerous.

Possessions

Thick hide gloves
Sturdy leather apron
A pair of tongs
A hammer
A small anvil (3 hebs, 1 hafeb, and 4 mut in weight)
Waterproof woolen travelling cloak
Extra tunic
Small package of daylong flower
Medium sized, half empty flask of trinity herb juice
Large packet of dried Dreamer’s Breath flower
Small coin purse
4 large cakes of oatmeal soap, wrapped in hide
Waterskin
Sack filled with chunks of scrap metal
Packet of dried jerky
Packet of Baych nuts
Packet of Maple Candy
Small copper pot
Flint
Whet Stone