Loris eye-of-the-storm Ryan

Species	Kea èlanè (anthro)
World	the world of Èlanè
Gender	Female
Age	Around 25, expected to live to around 90
Stats	Strength - very low Agility - high Dexterity - very high Speed - average Health - low Intellect - high Magnetism - above average Willpower - very high Perception - high Appearance - average Instinct - average Civility - extremely high
Size	4'6", about 70 lbs (hollow boned)
Description	Feathers - darkish emerald green to yellow-green (rarely seen, as it's feather tips) with black-grey mask around beak, irridescent on head and short feathers Beak - gold-tan with brownish-red tip, Skin - black-grey legs only Eyes - yellow-orange
Distinguishing Points	Loris has had all her long feathers and extra plumage removed. She must have this done regularly, as they just keep growing back. Her tail, while short, is often unseen and hidden in her clothing, and she is never seen without at least modest footwear. She is obsessive about her civility. She is also a clothing collector, she loves being on the cutting edge of available fashions. Anything she's seen in will be very popular in the big cities about 3 weeks later, and possibly might never even hit backwater towns.
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Loris paced slowly, quietly, and wondered what was taking so long in the tavern below. She ought to have gone down there herself, but she didn't feel like fielding too many more questions. There - she heard the distinct crash and tinkling of a cup breaking on the floor. Someone had discovered the body. Shouts followed, inevitable queries as to what had happened... And a sudden pounding on her room's door brought her pulse up a bit.

She did not seem at all out of sorts when she answered the door with a quiet, "yes? Is something going on down there? What's happening?"

The frantic antelope-girl that tended bar this time of day wrung her stiff fingers together, "there's ... there's a body, down in the cellar, we were looking for another bottle of wine and- and-" she broke off, wide brown eyes whirling with fear. Either she'd never seen a body before, or she'd been the one to discover it and Loris knew that was always a slightly traumatic event, even for hardened warriors.

So Loris changed her own demeanor accordingly, "goodness, are you certain they are dead? I am a physician, perhaps I can help." She reassured the girl, and then headed with purpose downstairs. To anyone else, she was a skilled surgeon and healer, come to hopefully recussitate the clearly dead boar man who had been left where he'd fallen in the cellar, face first onto the stone and surrounded by several broken bottles of expensive wine.

Loris could actually hear the muttered bemoaning of the loss of those wines, they were vintage, they were the pride of the valley. As she knelt she knew what she'd find, of course. His pulse had stilled, his blood was coagulating below the skin and causing his eyes to appear blackened. He'd evacuated his bowels, as usually happened - but Loris did not mention that this happened hours before. It was cold, had he recently been there and fallen, they would still be rank and wet. She went through motions of checking each pulse site, gently prodding his limbs and torso, feeling around his head, shoulders, neck and skull.

Of course, she knew all this from her studies of the body. She was adept at healing, could sew together wounds that seemed almost fatal. She'd taken many courses in the university at Pauntlerot that helped her understand both life and death in equal detail.

Of course, she knew this particular man had died some twelve hours before, of poisoned wine and had fallen - breaking his neck in the process to make it even more likely he'd die. She knew, naturally, because she'd poisoned him.

Loris stood from her examination, carefully brushing the dirt off her green-feathered fingers, and sadly looked down. "He is dead, I am sorry." Looking around intently, she focused on the stairs and waved her fingers so the people upon them moved aside. "He must have tripped, his neck is broken here," Loris gently moved the collar of his shirt away so they could see the clear zig-zag of broken vertebra. "I am afraid there is little for me to do, my condolences to his family." Nodding to the tavern owner Loris picked up her feet and walked up the creaky stairs, as patrons moved out of her way. Someone suggested they call for the undertakers and a priest to deal with the man and his final wishes, while another searched him for his personal sigil.

Loris went back to her room, and sat down, relieved. He had been the last in a series of assassinations she was set to perform, paid for by a rival in the courts of another city. Something about land rights, it wasn't her normal fare but then she had to balance things somehow. She'd saved thirteen people from food poisoning and gut-worms three months before, and she was only halfway through that number in assassin strikes.

Loris knew her fate was to continually destroy and heal, because she was not just a devotee of the Twilight lords but a Champion of them. It was not Valtus the sun, nor Sejensce the charitable that she worshipped, but a third between them. Halpek, a neutral presence that listened when speakers were present, who presided over disputes in a less lawful but more dramatic fashion. All sides must be seen, all voices heard, before a judgement rendered - and when the judgement was said, it was Loris who was sent to administer it. At least, in ways of the body. There were other such champions who dealt with harvests, lands, money, and scholarly pursuits.

But Loris felt blessed even as she was exhausted by this duty. So now that this one, the sixth, was done, she prayed and slept soundly.