Profile of Najwa
Character Info
burning from the inside out
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Najwa Darzi is a Eximius that identifies as Non-binary. Najwa was born on 1450 and is 26 years of age.

  • Height: 5'6"
  • Weight: 93
  • Eye Color: Amber
  • Hair Color: Dark Red
( 340 Mana )

young blood stick it out

A lanky, skinny thing, Najwa is all stark rib and hollow bone, her hunger one that defines much of her appearance. Wide hips and narrow shoulders would make a pear shaped and soft silhouette on anyone else, but she resembles nothing more than an oddly shaped scarecrow, cloth and thin skin stretched over stick-like bones. Slightly shorter than most Eximius, her weight is what has taken the real hit and while there's strength beyond human norms in her limbs, speed is her defining asset. She's built for it, long legs and quick reflexes making her agile and dexterous, ready to respond to whatever comes her way.

She is covered liberally in freckles, and her hands and feet look like they've been smeared with soot at all times, blackened and burnt looking, even if her skin is physically fine. She's been gifted with more than that in the Blanchard Projects, however. There is a fiery glow in her midsection, a hot bellyful of the fire that crawls up the back of her throat and dyes the back of her teeth the hellish red of firelight. Mostly invisible unless in the dark, she commonly keeps it covered, just another reminder of the things that set her apart from other people.

She does share similarities with other Eximius, however. Her back is layered with tattoos of feathers and writing she's long since forgotten how to parse, and her first priority is deciphering the strange text. She's also gone a more archaic method to etch new, worthwhile memories into her skin. The traditional tattoos, tapped out with a stick, needle and ink, while painful, suit her well; she's done both legs with the few cherished memories she has for herself. For a price, she also offers this to others. Her artistry is crude at best but her writing is impeccable, and she's very good at geometrical designs.

With a fortnight of decent food and a good night's rest, her face would be rounded, oval face set off by a pointy chin and a sharp jaw. As it is, her cheeks are hollowed and only given shape by the ugly mess of teeth that barely interlock. Evolution skipped past without a care given for sustainability, predator features and characteristics were bestowed on her without forethought or hindsight. Teeth for ripping, gripping and tearing, this they excel at, an uneven mix of fangs and the shorter incisors made for tearing meat. But she hasn't got the stomach for it, and eating the way her teeth are intended to would make her ill. She would know, she's tried.

Above that a blunt, low set nose and hooded amber eyes set it all off, the typical glow of Eximius eyes turning honey brown to gold in low lights. Freckles grow heavy over her sharp cheekbones, crawl over the bridge of her nose and stretch up into short red hair, fiercely curled like a good chunk for the Dorsum population. You might expect her voice to be similarly sharp and piercing, but it's quite the opposite. Soft, smooth tones define her, voice kept hushed both to her wishes to go unnoticed and due to the slight lisp that blunts some of her words. She's mostly overcome it, but there are some words impossible to pronounce properly for her.

Her clothing is simple but functional. A cotton coat, many folds and draping lengths of cloth one that serves a vital purpose for her. Covering her jaws and hiding her eyes when she wishes to go unnoticed, keeping her head down is her main goal. Beneath that, a layer of soft furs if the weather is cold and a simple chemise if it isn't, as she only has a practical amount to wear for someone on the move. Simple leather leggings and boots she made herself finish it although she often goes barefoot if the weather is nice and she's not in an urban environment. Best to save her boot soles for when she really needs them.

face your palms to the sun

pyromanic — bought. fleetfoot — unbought. refract — unbought. vitriol — unbought.



Reactive ║ Flighty ║ Unstable

she opened her arms to the world

Raised in the cruel chaos of the labs that created the eximius, this child has never known normal. It is little surprise that the facade she created for herself is a step removed from the rest of the world. She holds herself together with both hands, and it is only to be EXPECTED that things slip through the cracks. Her history is a stranger to her, only the unreliable narrator of her past self and the tattoos left to convey anything of her yesterdays. How true the pages and ink are, not even she knows. She knows she has her caravan, that she travels the mainland giving aid in exchange for coin to strangers desperate enough to turn to her. She's sure that she had a family, a life, a name. Her name is Najwa.


In lieu of the support that other eximius gave each other she has created her own coping methods, and some of them strike strange indeed and most of them fall short. Alone, even she knows that telling the real from the false and the whispers from her own thoughts is a difficult task. While the company of other people helps ground her in theory and in the best case scenario, too often the presence of other people that she can hurt and that can hurt her in turn stresses her out instead, leaving her alone with only spiraling thoughts to be her company. When stretched to her limit the wire tight tension in her snaps with barely a nudge, already at its limit in keeping her together on the best of days. She truly does not mean to harm people, preferring flight to fight. But the urges built into the original eximius are often stronger than any other. Under pressure, that inner turmoil grows hotter and tears out, a flash fire that sears anything in its path. It is a guess if even she remembers it, whether she means to bear teeth and snarl, as feral a thing as any other woodland creature, just as vicious. If she does, she doesn't speak nor write of it, and it's quickly fed into that miasma of forgotten things that keep her up at night with the howling.

the world bent down to remind her

After the self inflicted loss of all of the journals (both hers and the ones left behind by those shades of her past) and the work she'd done so far on deciphering herself, the Siel on her back and her history, she lost herself for a short while. The blow was a staggering one and the last grip she had on her sanity pushed her into action. She currently haunts Svalbard, having thrown herself on the mercy of those more skilled at magic and science than herself.


This shadowy figure from her past is both an object of severe fascination and no small amount of trepidation. She remembers feelings better than facts that far back. The cradle of similarly inked skin, the pulse of a heart larger and slower than hers. The protected ease of a caretaker. The rap of a ruler across her knuckles, a teacher to learn from, a strict taskmaster. The fear of a predator larger than you, the despair of being left behind. Even as Najwa chases the shreds of memory she has left, part of her fears what she'll find. Still, she has to. She has no other leads on her past.


Her Polaris. She'd have snapped her own spine to make sure Vivica fixed her, and the only thing she was asked for instead was her assistance.

Najwa would do anything for her.


Salamander caught her attention quicker than a fish on a hook. She wants to BE them as much as she wants to be around them, basking in that feeling of confidence, absorbed by contact and the press of lips to hers.


This one leant her a hand when she truly needed it. When she remembers him, she'd do the same.


Ozge makes them feel as scared and as panicked as a rat trapped in a hole, the baying of dogs directly overheard paired with the rumble of the roof, ready to fall about their shoulders and crush them. The eximius attributed it to their poor choice for a first (second) meeting.


Neat. He has fortitude she admires, even if she doesn't understand his choices. Unexpectedly cruel moments leave her with a small shred of mixed feelings.


That Dire (dream? nightmare?) put the fear of god into her and part of her still wonders if it wasn't a hallucination. She put as much space between them as she could.


The memory of a eximius even more anxious than her stuck with her. She wishes him well, wherever it is that he has gone.


Jealous and admiring both, the tiny eximius' easy confidence soothes them as much as it makes them wish for the life she's got. Naj would trade pretty much anything for that chance to be at ease in their own skin and the world around them.


of the sound of the song that would define her

1450 ― Borne to a Dorsum couple, Najwa had very little time in her parents' arms before the Blanchard Project's need for more and more subjects had her plunged into the forging fire. She was very young when she was taken, and most of the experiments are little more than a blurry haze that she doesn't remember more than vaguely. Her age made her nothing more than a curiosity and an attempt to stabilize the negative aspects of their hasty trials, and she was not often unleashed to hunt like some of the older, more unfortunate subjects.

1458 ― After the experiments ended, that nebulous point of time where she SHOULD have been sent to the spit of land that would become Ballasburn is lost to her. It's this point of time that Zhiraj found her, although Najwa does not remember it. She was supposed to have been returned to her family, but Zhiraj's attempts to reconcile the happy toddler that had been stolen from her student was a long process that would ultimately end in vain.

1464 ― After an incident where Najwa lost control and attacked the small group Zhiraj was with at the time, the harsh Dire declared her lost and hopeless. The two fought horridly and after Najwa attacked her again in a fit of rage, Zhiraj left. Leaving the accouterments of a way to live with the young eximius, she abandoned her in the wilds of northern Svalbard and returned to Dorsum.

1464 ― Najwa, having been lied to about the chances of her current caretakers coming back for her, roamed the wilds of Svalbard for a while. Her mental state deteriorated quickly with the harsh living and the lack of any grounding factors or proper care and she quickly forgot most of her past. She slowly began to cobble a life together with what she had to her name.

April 12th, 1474 ― A mess of a situation nets her the freedom she thrives off of and a potential partner in crime, at least for the moment.

April 1476 ― Najwa is startled and the loss of control threatens on the edge of a Dorsum village.

1476 ― On a detour from her route, she meets an even shyer Eximius than her.

1476 ― An early morning hunt turns into a scene from a fairy tale meant to frighten children.

1476 ― A visitor to their campsite turns out to be more than Najwa bargained for.

May 1476 ― A surprise visitor to their campsite gets a less than warm (or perhaps too warm) welcome. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice....

June ?? 1476 ― The first activation of their pyromanic praxi ability in an external manner led to disaster. Unable to control the flames properly, they burnt the caravan and all of the journals and dictionaries within to ash.

July ?? 1476 ― The aimless breakdown and thin wisp of resolve left to them leads them to Svalbard, hoping for any shred of rehabilitation to their memories and the mental issues that plagued them. After a month of research, Najwa followed the etiquette to call on Vivica's mercy. But everything has a price. Najwa is ready to pay whatever it takes. It doesn't matter any more.

August ?? 1476 ― While working under Vivica, Najwa happened to be given the chance to enable another exi's bad decisions, giving him a tattoo and some advice in the process.

August 17th 1476 ― An attempt to earn some pocket change gets waylaid in the worst sort of way and leaves Najwa with empty pockets.

August 17th 1476 ― Waylaid by curiosity and an insatiable appetite for new curios, Najwa is late for a meeting with Vivica.

August 1476 ― On a side trip to Durres, Naj meets an eximius that takes a quick liking to the chance to meet a friendly face.

August 1476 ― A walk after a morning rain gives Najwa a chance to meet one so close and so so far from herself. The born eximius is a study on contrasts and could have beens, one that makes Najwa as jealous as openly admiring as she could be.

September 1476 ― The inner workings of Najwa's illness take all kinds. Najwa meets (reunites?) with a Svalbardian magister in order to explore the measures needed to make her mind whole once more.

Played by G
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Joined on: Mar 20 2020
Birthday: Hidden
Posts: 60 (Find All Posts?)
Status: Offline
Last visited: Jul 30 2020, 7:56 AM
Local time: Jun 22 2021 at 9:19 AM
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