Background: Having grown up in the rhubarb highlands of on the southern continent of New Pale in the Truane's Star system, Siu-Ling quickly learned to use her skills in marksmanship to earn her living as a pelt hunter, just as her mother had years before. Her hometown being governed by a committee of elder matriarchs, she earned the respect of her superiors and was chosen to be an envoy on several expeditions into uncharted territories of New Pale's vast wilderness.
During a routine expedition, Siu-Ling was separated from her group, and was sequestered by a group of rogue humans who sold her into the interstellar slave trade. She was cryogenically caged and woke up one day on the outskirts of a small town in New Pale. Having hid her talents from her captors until they would be of use in her escape, she seized the opportunity to grab her captor's pistol one day, and shot the human three times, leaving him for dead. Her escape from New Pale was swift, as she stowed away on an exploration vessel.
The events that led to her arrival on Volturnus are a bit fuzzy, as she either does not remember them very well (possibly a residual effect of the cryogenic process) or simply does not like to talk about it. Nevertheless, this markswoman is by default loyal to those who show her kindness, but merciless to those who mean her harm. She does not waste time with words, preferring calculated and focused action.
Appearance: Sleek and slender, neither skeletal nor rotund, Siu-Ling's limber figure skates effortlessly o'er the Palean ice cap. Raven haired and almond eyed, she dons the newest, latest, most nauseatingly fashionable top-of-the-line snow gear, disappearing into the distance as the mists of her dreams vaporize before her.
Siu-Ling stands before a mirror, back on Volturnus. Her nostalgic daydream of days on Pale now long-past is replaced by her present condition. True, she was a rare beauty in the primacy of youth, but all these seasons on Volturnus--its arid deserts; its humid, mosquito-laden forests and swamps; its acidic caverns--have taken their toll on the woman's previously gentle appearance.
Realizing that today is her 23rd birthday, she washes and diagnoses herself somewhat absentmindedly. Numerous scars adorn her still supple body. Behold the texture of the shoulder burn, and how it bore clean through the bone. And the left leg that never healed quite right, despite the quick application of plastiflesh. Only careful observation would reveal the lesser plastiflesh signatures that dot her otherwise smooth skin where only minor incisions, abrasions, and scuffs occurred.
She peers deeper into the mirror, studying the undeniable, violet hue under her reddened eyes, both rough-and-ready signs of weariness in humans. "I'll have to ask xZot for a day off," she mumbles as she brushes her teeth with a newly found tube and brush. Her agile fingers--trained in ballistics, demolitions, and the kvar (a musical instrument)--could use a manicure, though they remain in handsome condition, as far as humans go.
She puts the dentifrice away, and with a little time to rest, sits to do a little yoga. Sitting, then lying on her mat, she embarks on a fifteen-minute tour of her body that leads to a peaceful slumber... a beauty rest. Lying face up, Siu-Ling's cinnamon skin reflects the blue glow of the fluorescent light as her even breathing supports her barely noticeable ribs under the thin strip of xybocotton that clothes her.
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