Suna Yari

Yari no Suna
Gender	Female
Race	Au Ra
Clan	Raen
Citizenship	Doman
Age	24
Marital Status	Single
Occupation	Spearmaiden
Height/Weight	110 ponze (50 kg) / 61 ilms (155 cm)
Orientation	Bisexual
Relatives	Yari no Tenzo(Father) Yari no Saya(Mother) Yari no Tenjin(Brother)

Yari no Suna (Eorzean: Suna Yari) (1st Sun 4th Astral Moon (1 Apr)) is a Doman Au Ra spearmaiden displaced by the destruction of her homeland by the Garleans. She currently roams Eorzea, exploring and assisting anyone she encounters in the name of defending her new home.

Basic Info

LIKES ■ Food ■ Snow ■ Watching People ■ Spears

DISLIKES ■ Attention ■ Trousers ■ Garleans ■ Spiders

OTHER ■ Alignment: Neutral Good ■ Vice(s): None ■ Favourite Food: Apkallu Omelette ■ Favourite Drink: Ishgardian Tea ■ Favourite Color: Dark Blue

Appearance & Personality

110 ponze packed in 61 ilms, Suna hardly stands out anywhere. Her chestnut brown hair is kept fastidiously braided, albeit loosely and her dark blue eyes are capped with an only slighter hue of limbal rings. Her pale skin belies the hours spent training above the clouds under the sun, though her cheeks get red from exertion should there ever be a need for them to. Her chin juts out, providing a nice contrast from the smoothness of the rest of her face while her eyes are almost always wide open, searching for something, anything, to lock on to.

Very few had ever heard Suna speak more than a few terse, clipped words as if the very act of talking caused physical distress on her. Perhaps it did, though none had ever really asked. She speaks through other means, a small smile, a wince, laughter quickly ended before it could truly begin. She communicates with her hands, giving people things for reasons known only to her. Most of the time, however, she is alone, quiet, watching others go about their lives. Even at rest, her hands constantly move in small gestures, a habit forged by one used to wielding a spear where sweeping motions were reserved for decisive blows. She is partial to food, and would like to eat new things. Perhaps, if one were lucky - and the food good enough - one could see her eyes crinkle into a smile masked by quick chewing.

Biography

Yari

The Lancers of Gridania and the Dragoons of Ishgard believe the spear to be an extension of their bodies. The Yari, however, believed the opposite, that their bodies were an extension of the spear, whose will was carried out by the spearmasters and spearmaidens that devoted their lives to the craft. High up in the jagged spires of Eastern Othard where good footing was a luxury, the Yari family had grown from one, to several smaller families all claiming the name of the spear.

By tradition, the second child of every household of the Yari was offered to the temple of the Dawn Father on their ninth nameday, where hewn rocks had been molded into a suitable training ground for the future defenders of their village. Yari no Suna’s parents had two children, a boy and a girl. She was the second.

Spearmaiden

She would never speak of it, but sometimes, she had to strain to remember their faces when they came to visit on her name day, the only time of the year during her apprenticeship that she would get a reprieve from the painful task of training her body and mind into the singular devotion of the spear. Her parents were always happy to see her though her brother seemed ill at ease around her for reasons unable to be explained in one full day. The only day they had.

She loved them, in her own strange way, and they loved her. Although they knew that the young child that had run around their home as her father toiled in his workshop was gone, replaced by a spearmaiden who they could be proud of one day. Gone was the little girl that had demanded to be brought to the market to watch the merchants from Doma go by on their way to the inn. Suna had turned quiet, closed to them. Hours upon hours of meditating and training had changed her. On her 17th name day, they did not visit. Suna understood. She shed many tears that night, and very rarely ever since.

She trained, for there was nothing else to do now. For her last year she trained long and hard and shied away more than normal. She rarely spoke, even to her masters. She nodded, she bowed, and she did her drills dutifully. Her masters did not care overmuch if she did not speak, only that she performed admirably. Suna performed admirably, and that was enough for them though none could claim to have seen her smile.

On her 18th nameday, she went to the market and watched the people, committing their faces, their actions and reactions into memory. It reminded her of what it meant to be human, to be less of the spear. It was her one indulgence having nothing else.

She wed her spear the next day.

The Wedding of the Spear was the end of her apprenticeship. Now she was to journey through the mountains, giving succor to those in need. The Yari had no official command, only that they were to take the teachings of honour and courage to heart. Suna left her village and never came back.

Doma

She followed the caravans, long trains of pulled carts carrying wares by the Domans, the only people brave or foolish enough to go through the mountain passes. Merchants paid her good coin to protect them and to save them should they fall down, her nimble footing and speed, her willingness to jump into the abyss below to save a merchant were what made her just too important to pass by.

They would say goodbye to her at the edge of Raen land. At the foothills she would find another caravan requesting her aid, to other Raen towns or even farther North through Xaela territory. She did this for a year before her curiosity, the fires of which her masters had thought long since quenched, got the better of her. One day, just after escorting a caravan, she ignored all others and walked on. She would only look back once, with eyes at once devoid of emotion and full of hope. Perhaps she would return one day. Perhaps not.

She had never seen so many people, more importantly, she had never seen so many people without horns nor scales before. The first merchant town that she passed, she wished to have stayed forever. In her village, market day was once a month. Judging by the hustle and the bustle, it seemed like every day was market day. She smiled before going to bed, in a small inn room that cost her far less than she thought luxuries like soft beds should be worth. They never had soft beds in the temple, and any memory of having slept in one from a time before that was long gone.

The weather turned warmer, as she travelled lower and lower into the plains of Othard, where the Domans had a bastion of their arts and sciences. She watched painters on the street, not daring to blink as their canvasses became filled with a beauty Suna had only seen on faded paper. Warmth had forced her to buy Doman attire, for the Raen weavers never truly thought of warm clothing as worthy of their time. Summers this warm were unheard of, after all.

She watched the Domans in their tea shops drinking, talking, arguing. Some merchants would remember her and ask her why she was there. “I wish to see.” She said simply, and that was enough for them. They would ask her if she were willing to go up the mountains again, she would say yes sometimes, but none ever brought her back to the village. Perhaps it was luck that it didn’t. She was different now. She had seen and while she might never truly feel, seeing would suffice.

Home

The Garleans invaded with the speed and ferocity of a snow wolf . Suna would hear murmurs of places she had never been to, succumbing to the might of the empire and soon, Suna would hear tales of places she had been to. The idea of this beautiful land that, if she were to admit, she called her home, was being invaded did not sit well with her. All her life she was trained to defend the weak and the infirm, it was now time to put those skills to the test.

The Doman Resistance welcomed her openly. Yari spearmaidens were known for their skill and their devotion to whatever cause they decided to throw their lot with. Now she fought valiantly beside them, people who had once given her strange stares due to her lineage now shoulder to shoulder against waves of magitek and men. Sometimes she would speak briefly with her erstwhile comrades in the field and from them she learned much. Of Doman towns in far off places, of the cities across the sea, sparkling jewels in the desert, the ocean, and the forests of that place. She dreamed of these places, in the few hours of sleep afforded to her. Camaraderie aside, she was more than once used as bait. Garlean checkpoints confiscated weapons from passers through and Suna's absolute refusal to part with her spear, along with her unassuming figure painted her as a target amongst the enemy. She did not mind, there were larger things to worry about after all and both she and her allies knew that there was no way some Vanguard or Reaper could best a spearmaiden. These machines that she had never seen before interested her and, sometimes, in the heat of battle, she had been noted to have jumped towards them, poke them once to touch and feel them, before jumping away. Her allies questioned her the first time she did this, with her reply being that she wanted to see what they were made of. As if one simple touch had deciphered the entirety of Garlean engineering to the spearmaiden. In her world, touching them was how she learned what they were all about. Tactile sensations had always afforded her far more confidence than her sharp eyes could. Sometimes she wondered how they would get them up the mountain paths into the Raen land. She was glad that they would at least have a very hard time about it.

And then it was gone.

Doma was gone. She didn’t know why, and she never asked. In the blink of an eye, it was gone. The order to flee out to sea had come just hours before and everyone ran to their vessels, the remnants of the Doman Navy and a rag tag collection of vessels procured from the Garleans were all that was left of the once proud land. They sailed for days, and Suna remembered very little of it. She remembered the cool sea breeze against the unforgiving sun, a man falling overboard and her jumping into the water to save him. She remembered hitting her head on something, and waking up just malms from the shores of Vyllbrand. She woke just in time to see the sun hit the white, wave-kissed stones of Limsa Lominsa and she remembered shielding her eyes from the brightness, a part of her afraid to be consumed by it. By this strange, new land.

New

She parted with the Domans, thanking them for their aid. She would have never escaped the destruction of her old home had it not been for them. The spear would never have willed it, she thought. She would have stood her ground to the very end, a noble death to a spear and her maiden. And yet, she ran. From death, Othard, in many ways everything she believed in. An act of rebellion? Maybe. But she was too simple to think that way. She had violated something, and for a time she did not know what to do.

She considered returning to her old ways, a lowly mountain guide. It seemed simple to her. Know the paths, learn the ways, survive as she always did. But Eorzea had very few mountains that required mountain guides. The large birds that trailed carriages knew the paths better than she could. Every step they took was calculated, like hers. Those without chocobos knew other mountain guides, leaving her with very little option but to become that noble profession for those with very little option. An adventurer.

She travelled and saw and adventured, like she always wanted. She learned and watched the people of her new home - a decision that was disturbingly easy to make for her - go about their day. She felt free, almost unburdened. Othard was an ocean away, her little village tucked somewhere in obscurity. She liked the freedom in afforded to not have the gaze of others, not knowing what exactly a spearmaiden was, and yet she clung to her training and her beliefs even tighter. She felt a sense of self in being a spearmaiden, describing it to others and eschewing the identity of adventurer. She calmed herself with the mantra of her training. I am the spear. The spear is me. and for many days she travelled alone and for many of those nights, she looked up at the sky and wondered why it looked different. She would later decide that it wasn't the sky that was different, it was her.

New Suna. It was a strange feeling. She wanted new things, as any new Suna would. She took up making, instead of destroying. The spear was a poor choice for making, so she took up the needle. She made clothes for others, though she kept her only yukata for herself and some select clothes for more unforgiving climates. She took up the saw, next, for the haft of her spear had grown worn. Then the hammer. Then the pan. She loved cooking, after all. She made things. Sometimes not well, but she made them anyway. The singular devotion to the spear helped much. She devoted much of her time to making, and she loved it. But she was always a spearmaiden, not a maker. For there was comfort, the stability of her youth nestled with it. She was the spear, after all. And the spear was Suna.

Miscellaneous

RUMORS Some of these rumors are untrue or are greatly exaggerated. Please feel free to add your own rumors under PC! ◢ Common Rumors (Easily overheard) ■ "*I've never seen anyone eat that many pies before." -- Ishgardian Culinarian ◢ Moderate Rumors (Moderately difficult to overhear) ■ ◢ Rare Rumors (Very difficult or rarely overheard) ■ ◢ PC Rumors (Rumors from the character's of other players) ■ "Saw her in the Quicksands... She's got a way with choosing her clothing." -- Serenity Maescia ■ "She's odd... But that's just one of her many charms. Never saw her do much beyond engineering, but by the Gods she is good at it!" - Ferathir Dawnbreaker ■ "You've seen her?! She makes the best tuna miq'abobs EVER! Yeah. I pretty much love her. Mmhmm." - R'anael Lea

RELATIONS ♥ Romantic Interest    ♥ Platonic Love     ● Good Standing     ● Poor Standing ♥ ● ●

Footnotes

TV Tropes: The Quiet One No Social Skills Bizarre Taste in Food Blade On A Stick [1]