Mitusawa De Vante.(Character sheet in blog section of profile.) "The Desert's Rose." Whispers abound of a house of vipers, forged from the twisted and mutated flesh of orphans. An organization which served as the first and final line of defense against the countless hordes who would claim dominion over men. Fables of heroism and sacrifice; as well as swarthy insipid rumors of their true nature. Despite these tales of selflessness, the members of this house are still revered as monsters. Persecuted by man and branded heretics by those who claim to be men of God. The grandest abomination within this house receives less social status and respect, than that of the lowliest blacksmith. Marked as pilgrims stripped of any attachments. These monk like beings traverse the vast realms. Enduring in every clime as they served as a vanguard of peace. Some know them as demons, abominations, monsters even mutants. A few would go as far as labeling them the harbingers of woe and despair. For wherever they are found, trouble and death stalks their wake. To the east, far from the taint of the politics that is the empire. Exist a simple and pride kingdom. A people who have conquered the scorching dunes of sand and various predators to claim this patch of land as their own. A realm once likened to death had evolved into a thriving economical oasis. To the north of the Viridian mountain ranges rested a small settlement. A beacon of hope to those who dare to travel across the endless stretch of sand. With eyes obscured by some sort of cloth bandage, a traveler would press through the sand. Her footprints falling prey to the roaring winds and steady stream of sand being hurled in the air. Her resolve unshaken as she closed the distance between herself and this town. Passing through the threshold of its mouth, its stone walls serving as a barrier against the wind and sand. Two scars adorned her chest, remnants of a harrowing tale that is her creation. A constant reminder of the pain she had to endure in order to survive. With twin blades resting against her hips, the pilgrim would make her way through these stone streets. Unlike most realms, this region knew little about her kind. And though they heard the legends of the nearby providence. They lacked the proper knowledge necessary to identify her. One might find themselves in a quandary when observing Mitsusawa. Despite having her eyes shielded, she still managed to navigate her terrain with ease and grace. This was solely due to the fact that she was not blind. Though she did see the world in a different light. While most behold shape, color and texture. She witnessed the flow and ebb of all energy. A metaphysical map of sorts which granted her an almost inhuman level of perception. That served as a catalyst for both curses and blessings. Despite a few puzzle looks being sent her way, the warrior would maintain her bearing. Not permitting the idle perceptions of the local populace to impede or cloud her vision. For like usual she was here on business not pleasure. Finally she would find herself standing by her objective. A small fountain within the center of town. A statue of a man with a spear penetrating the shell of a massive scorpion resided within its epicenter. Looking skyward toward the cerulean crisp sky, Mitsusawa would drop. Taking root on a vacant bench, arms now nesting against her defined abdomen. A heavy sigh of relief parting from her lushes lips. Before permitting its arches to contort, plastering a subtle smile on her picturesque face. For weeks she had traveled with little to no rest. She battled both predators and the climate. From man to vile beast, from sand storms to the frigid nights. But finally she could taste respite; or as much as she permitted to savor. For soon it would shatter; and she would once more find herself waltzing with the angel of death. A dance she knew all too well.