It wasn't an uncommon sight in the City of Vel Anir to see an orphaned child standing on a street corner, begging silently with tear stricken faces for just a few coins for their next meal or a warm scrap of cloth to wrap around their wretched little bodies. This was where a young Amaya, at the tender age of 5 could be found, begging for a coin or scrap piece of cloth. The Anirian Guard held a strong pull for any commoner and that's where her parents could be found. Training away for the next war caused by the arrogance of the human race and the King the last thing either wanted was to be saddled with a child who actually needed things. The orphanages were packed with the children from previous wars, current sickness', and the general malaise that plagued the poverty-stricken. For all its grandeur the city of Vel Anir had its dark secrets and its less than savory citizens.

As a girl at such a tender age she learned quickly that women were easy targets and men... well... she best just stay away from men. The streets had never been kind to her and as she aged through childhood and into her young teenage years she became proficient at thieving from the local merchants and visiting travelers. It was truly only a matter of time before Amaya found herself within the clutches of either a street gang, a merchant service, or a brothel. She'd die before she sold her body to some fat slob who couldn't attract even the lowliest of female creatures. No, the whore house was never where she intended to end up and she slit her own throat to ensure it.

Instead, Amaya found herself in the employ of a black market courier service as a message runner. For years, she would run messages from one clandestine location to another. Picking up and dropping off notes, packages, and bloodied sacks were enough to force anyone to learn the skills needed to survive, the emotional availability of a toad, and the dark, depraved mind of the truly twisted.

Having found the skills needed to move forward with her life Amaya left the employ of the courier service at the age of 25, with more than one scar to show and the red tattoos that adorned her face, seeming to highlight her unusual golden amber eyes. Those same tattoos could be found along her neck only to slide, twist, and curve their intricate patterns along her shoulders and chest, dipping below the fabrics of her shirt. Through the years she learned to never trust, keep her daggers sharp, and that there was no such thing as too much blood.

For the last year she had picked up the random bounty, making her way through the countryside of Vel Anir killing for the sake of coin, and if she were to admit, to fill the emptiness within her soul. Always returning to the comforting inns of Vel Anir or the forests of Falwood that surrounding the city she was always seeking...