|Portrayed by||Felicia Porter|
|Affiliation||The Grey Tower|
Nasrin is a rather adventurous young woman who always seems to be sporting a scrape or bruise along with a bright, nearly ever-present smile. Though her preference for short hair and trousers seem to run contrary to her Domani heritage, she still comes over distinctly feminine. She has an athletic build and an acrobats grace from years climbing the masts on her father’s smuggling ship. An experience that also gave her a somewhat warped view of rules and authority.
As a child in Arad Doman, she was constantly teased about the dusting of freckles across her face and shoulder. Tokens of her father’s Illianer heritage. As she grew into her teens and took to sea with her father, she developed a defiant sort of pride in her freckles. They were different, she was learning to enjoy being different.
As a student, Nasrin is more than a little inconsistent. If a lesson manages to keep her attention, she excels, but as soon as the lesson loses her interest, she can become easily distracted, to the point of disruptiveness. She’s a hyper active young woman who enjoys climbing and swimming as well as sneaking out to cause trouble. She has a number of scars from various mishaps including a thick scar that stretches across both shoulder blades. She had been struck by flying debris during a storm at sea.
Scrubbing tears from her eyes, young Nasrin Naceri stood on the dock clutching a small bundle to her chest. She wore her nice dress. It was a deep purple, and while it did not cling as much as a woman’s dress, it fit her in a way only the work of a master seamstress could achieve. Tall for her age, Nasrin had modeled the various dresses her grandma made. This sleek, purple masterpiece had been one of grandma’s last creations before she fell ill.
Over the last six months, Nasrin steadily watched her grandma grow weaker and slowly turn more and more duties at her shop over to her apprentices. Eventually, the ailing seamstress sent a letter to Nasrin’s father. Though she had no love for the man, nor his profession, he was the only person she could trust to watch over Nasrin. If the Illianer smuggler wouldn’t take care of the girl because she was his flesh and blood, he would out of love for his dead lover.
So here she stood, she’d said goodbye to her grandma for maybe the last time and now she waited on the docks to meet a man they said was her father. She watched the ship she’d been as her fathers as it pulled into the harbor. She didn’t know much about ships, but it looked fast with it’s sleek lines and magnificent sails. The name Wind’s Fortune was painted in looping letters near the front. Wiping away another tear, Nasrin was reminded of the tails of courage and romance the gleemen told about the sea. She tried to imagine the man who would captain such a graceful ship. Youthful imagination running wild, began to guess what Captain Stanos Defeo must look like. He would be tall and slim with broad shoulders like the heroes in stories. Illianers were blond sometimes, or so she’d heard. He would have long flowing locks that blew in the wind as he stood at the wheel. He’d have to be grey at the temples of course. He wasn’t a young man. He had seen so much of the world, and he would teach her. She touched her cheek, he wouldn’t have freckles, heroes in stories never had freckles.
When they met for the first time, he would smile sadly and tell her how much she reminded him of her mother. Below his wit and intellect, there would be a current of sadness from the tragic death of his love. He would learn to smile again, for real, once he was reunited with his family.
By now, Nasrin’s tears had stopped. Her fancies where running wild as she imagined exploring new lands with her adventurer father and his loyal crew. Gasping in delight, she watched as the Wind’s Fortune pulled along side a pier and sailors tossed ropes down. The shirtless men quickly began leaping to the dock to tie the ship in place. A large plank was pushed into place and men began to unload the ship. Almost bouncing on her toes, she looked around for the captain.
A large man came stalking down the plank barking orders in a thick Illianer accent. His fine clothes and air of authority marked him out as an officer. He couldn’t be the captain. Not with that receding hairline and bushy red beard. He did indeed have freckles across his cheeks. The big man stalked over to her with a rolling gate, face like a thundercloud.
“Fancy dresses do be havin no place on my ship, girl,” the big man said, not waiting for Nasrin to give an introduction.
No, this couldn’t be her father. “Stanos?” She managed to stammer out. “Father?”
He winced slightly and sighed. “It do be Captain Defeo,” he said in a softer growel. “Come with me girl, We’ll get you settled in.” He never looked directly at Nasrin.
Meekly, Nasrin followed her father onto the ship. She took one more look over her shoulder at Bandar Eban. She’d miss this city with its muddy streets and colorful banners. The high fashion and the dangerous allies. By the time she looked away, the tears had begun to fall again.
- Novice (23 November 2016)