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Irina

Irina grew up in the historic city of Jerusalem, a city as old as the world some said. A city that despite, time, nature war and siege had survived and even thrived. To a child, it was a city of wonders, of constant discovery, of adventure and excitement. Especially the bazaar; full of exotic foods and spices and animals and people; people from as far south as Egypt and Libya, as far north as Persia, from the far east as far as the great city of Babylon. Irina lived in a city of life, a city of people, places and things, of thoughts, words and mystery.

She grew up in a quarter of the city close to the Mount, her home so close she could lean out her small window and almost touch it. She was too young to understand how important it was.

Being born as she was, the daughter of a blended marriage; the child of a Hellenizer as many called her, she grew up with many dark stares and cold looks which she ignored. Her mother's people had survived for generations and would continue to survive, no matter who they had children with.

She was quick of mind and hand and soon learned the languages of the many and varied people of her city; Greek, Latin, Assyrian, Egyptian; even the language of her mother, the word of Yahweh. She learned them all and learned them quickly, for a girl to know so much and yet speak so little was of no concern to anyone; children were seen and not heard.

Her father made his money first as a legionnaire fighting for the Greeks, then for a time, as a mercenary for Rome. When his tour of duty was up, he returned home and opened a small store. Irina had always wondered why her father was not well liked by the people of her quarter. She was a storyteller by nature and could enthrall her friends with tales of Babylon and Alexander the great and Hannibal of Carthage; stories she had heard in the bazaar and from the mouths of those lucky enough to attend a school. But not everyone could go there, only Romans and Greeks and those Jews wealthy enough to afford it. And they had to be boys. Irina didn't care though; she learned all she needed from the world around her.

However, it was not enough. Not for a young woman who, by the age of 22, had explored every nook and cranny of her city, who had traveled as far south as Hebron and as far north as Beth-Shan that the new rulers called Scythopolis.

Wiley and creative, Irina left the city of her birth in the dead of night and traveled as far as she could. Far past the borders of the old Jewish Kingdom of David whose shield she wore about her neck. Ever traveling with her were her dreams and ideas and imagination. Hearing a story late one night in a stopover house for Roman troops, she caught the tail end of a conversation. Something about a loss of troops near a river called Thermadon in the great empire of Rome. It seemed that there lived a force that could defeat the mighty imperial legions of Rome.

Once again, she traveled and the further she went the more she heard about a mysterious people who lived in the deep forest near the Thermadon river. Warrior Women some called them. Ghosts said others; shades and shadows, nothing more then a myth.

Myths had some grain of truth, or so her father had taught her. She would find these warrior women and she would learn their stories, their ways and their songs, their tongues and culture as she had others.

Standing at a simple 5 foot 7 inches, she is an impressive beauty with long dark brown hair the color of rich soil and eyes to match flecked with gold and bronze. Her skin is a dark caramel color and deepens to a dark brown if she spends too much time in the sun.

She has rarely had to defend herself and so carries no real weapon to speak of. Only her hands and feet and a meter long branch she found on her journey, having carved Cuneiform symbols and the tongue of Yahweh along it.

Tae'Nah athelfi arche: 4 February 2006

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