Zorazina Zidane
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Background:
On the arid, dusty wastes, little survived that could not weather the harsh conditions. But that which did grow, did so in a most resilient way; thorny weeds and belligerent shrubs that neither winter's chill nor even wildfire could kill off for good. And no matter how barren these lands appeared, when the rare, mild rains fell, the earth would explode in an exhuberant excess of wildflowers, buzzing with life and vivid colour.
The transformation never ceased to amaze the young Zorazina, growing up on the remote outskirts of a small village that stubbornly clung to existence along the Long Road. For if the land itself could so radically change its colours, then surely anything and everything was possible.
"You just have to find your rain, Granny!" Zorazina exclaimed confidently to the old woman who raised her with infinite patience and warmth, despite the fact that the two looked nothing alike. "Is that why you're naked and covered in mud, little weed?" asked Granny with a wrinkled smile which widened as the child prattled on about the frog in the well having told her to dig herself into the ground if she wanted to sprout leaves and petals. "But I could tell he was FIBBING!" she finished, delighted at the mischief and her own supposed smarts at having seen through the ruse - at least eventually.
"You tell that rascally frog, dear" chortled the old woman. She never questioned the child's tales, but did gently steer her back to the here and now when the necessities of life called for it. Zorazina beamed and rushed back out to poke her tongue out at the frog in triumph. "Nobody likes a smartypants", quaked the frog back at her. "But I'm not even WEARING pants!" replied Zorazina. Having delivered this stunning coup de grace, she pranced off through the vibrant greenery behind the simple cottage she called home.
Years later, the loss of Granny to the sands of time saw Zorazina, now a gangly teen, through her first real hardship - but like all things that grow in the wastelands, she endured. She endured also, for a time at least, the well-meaning attempts by the neighbouring village to take her in and put her to some honest work, though their good-will soon dwindled at her constant daydreaming and tales of impossible things.
Rather than stay where she clearly didn't fit in, waiting for the rain to fall, Zorazina decided to find it herself and be transformed. She would without a doubt become GREAT, but at what, she wasn't yet sure. Until one day, she saw a troupe of dancers perform outside N'Jast, spinning like dervishes, clashing their curved blades in dramatic mock battle. Just like that, she was entranced and the dream was born: she was going to be the greatest blade-swinger of all times!
Appearance and manner:
Everything about Zorazina Zidane, from her outlandish name to the impossible size of her hair, a veritable cloud of brown curls loosely and haphazardly braided and adorned with whatever beads, scraps of ribbons, shells or discarded old coins she might happen across, is a bit... well. Much. The saying that less is more definitely doesn't apply to her general appearance, nor her eclectic, often mismatched style of dress or indeed personality.
Tall, long-limbed and fit, Zorazina's build is powerful enough to pass as the warrior she will often claim to be, though the pep in her step and her untamed enthusiasm seem a far cry from a hardened mercenary. The generous-minded will chalk it down to youth, for she has a coltish look about her and is, at a guess, somewhere in her late teens.
