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Email: dharmo666@yahoo.com

DescriptionEdit

Eye Color: Gray/Green
Hair Color: Light Brown
Height: 5'7
Weight:
Age: 22
Place of Origin:

StatsEdit

Rank: Trainee
Weaopon Score: 5
Philosophy: Not Choosen Yet
Primary Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Tertiary Weapon:

HistoryEdit

Her story goes a little something like this:

Iris as a six year old:

"What are you doing?" Asked the mother.

The little girl lay sprawled bellydown on the grass, her chin resting on her bent arms in front of her.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you."

The girl tilted her head a little, and shifted her elbows from the itchy grass.

"Iris Veldorn." Exasperation.

"I'm watching my tree grow," she answered back in a small voice. "Leave me alone."

"Your tree is dead."

"It is not," she said and pushed herself up to her knees to creep up to her small tree. It was no bigger than she was. Are you alive, my little friend? Looking at it, she suddenly smiled very brightly. "It is merely sick. It can survive."

"It is dead. Now please, lets leave this place. Its getting dark and I grow scared."

The girl resisted the urge of watering it again. Too much water would kill it. Instead she took out a knife and began to remove all grass and plants that might be interfering with her tree's life. They will not take his space, she told herself for the hundredth time.

"I can't believe I let you carry a knife. What sort of mother am I?"

"It is a tool. I don't use it to kill," and she sawed away at a particularly stubborn weed, smiling as she finally dug it out and tossed it away.

Iris as a fifteen year old:

Today I went to see my tree again, she wrote in her diary. I measured it, this time. Two feet taller than me. Mom lets me go alone now. She always hated going to the small grove. Why does she fear nature like that? She looked away from the page and set her eyes on the people passing by her house as she sat on the porch.

A large man caught her eye. He was the tallest man she'd ever seen, and every time he moved she could see his heavy muscles sway in a firm but smooth rhythm with his body. He caught her staring.

"Well, aren't we a big young to be staring like that?" he grinned broadly and his voice was teasing. "Care to see a little more?" He started posing now.

Iris blushed furiously but couldn't stop staring, her tongue turned to lead and refused to speak.

The man walked in through the gate and stood close to her. "You'll be seeing a lot of me in the next few days, you know. This is Master Veldorn's house, is it?"

"It is." Her voice was weak.

He was smiling and was about to continue speaking when he had a sudden change of expression. Wincing, he turned to look back, and to Iris' surprise there was a woman standing at the gate. She seemed young enough. Probably his wife. How did he know she was there though? "Ah, I can see my grave from here," he moaned and Iris giggled at his boyish attitude.

The woman walked with dignity and grace, and Iris could see that beyond her calm appearance there was an intimate trace of annoyance. She didn't bother to look at the man as she spoke. "I'm here to see Master Veldorn. Is he home?"

"He will be here shortly, my lady," Iris said, rather nervously.

"Good," said the lady. "Some tea would be nice while we wait. You do know how to make tea do you?" Iris nodded. "Yes? Well, get going, child, but first show me the way to a comfortable chair. I grow tired of standing here for no good reason. Mikkel here," she pointed at the tall man, "will help you out with whatever you need."

That doesn't sound like a wife, Iris thought a little while later as she stood in the kitchen, watching the tea pot hissing. And who in blazes burned away her manners?

"Angry?" Mikkel asked.

"A little."

"Don't be. She's not so bad once you get used to it."

"She's not your woman, is she?"

Mikkel laughed heartily. "Gods, no. A man could kill himself."

"You just said she was not so bad."

"I did, didn't I? Well, it�s different with her and me."

"How so?" She insisted.

He just grinned. "I may tell you later. Right now I have to go. Your father is here."

"No he's not," but then she heard the footsteps, and Mikkel smiled again. She rather liked his smile. ...

Mikkel sat on the porch that night, watching the stars with empty eyes, a pipe stuck between his teeth.

"You are a Warder." Iris was convinced. She noticed that Mikkel was not surprised at her voice even though she had tried very hard to sneak up on him. He did seem a little uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny, however.

"You say so?" He was still looking at the stars.

"I know so. Come, I wish to take you somewhere."

Mikkel looked at her and smiled. He did have a beautiful smile. "I'll remain in your house for a few days. Why don't we simply talk tonight? I barely know you. Maybe that should be rectified before we do anything."

Her face darkened and her eyes narrowed. "Come," Iris said, "or I will drag you." A false threat, she knew, but she tried it out anyway. He laughed softly a little, and seemed to find her threat on the cute side. It worked.

"No need to get violent," he said and stood up.

She led him to a small barn some distance behind the house, far enough for sounds to die before they reached unwanted ears. "I have a little surprise for you," she said and stepped into the barn.

"I can hardly wait to see." He sounded genuinely eager, and followed her in after a moment, rubbing his hands together.

It was dark inside the barn. A little moonlight crept in from the windows, though, and it allowed Mikkel to see an object flying right at him. He dodged it, and then saw that it was a wooden sword. His surprise was barely concealed.

"Not the type of wood you were hoping to wield?" It was Iris' turn to smile, and Mikkel let out a resounding laugh. "Teach me."

Iris as a twenty two year old:

I have been in the tower grounds for three years now. The people here seem amiable at times, but there are many who hide deep secrets behind stony faces that show dark sorrows in their pasts. There is a lot of respect, however, and I am glad to know I am not discriminated for being a female fighter. It is, after all, a place run by women, and that is why I chose it. Besides, I believe I have shown enough potential to be as good as any man. Better, even, than most. I have come to think, perhaps wishfully, that I am quicker of both sword and mind. Men are stronger, but arrogant and foolish. It is the same as their attitude with trees: Men use their strength to cut down trees, while women nurture them and reap the benefits of their fruits.

"Time for practice," said a girl in full armor. "You write too much, lets go."

Iris closed her diary and picked up her sword.

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