Legends of Belariath
Kyatria
From the very moment she was born, Kyatria's life was cursed. With wings as black as pitch, the feathers tipped with crimson, her kind already saw her as a pariah…an undesirable, that would only bring misfortune upon their village. Her eyes, though, scared the villagers, and even her parents, even more. Red like blood, so vibrant. And so they threw her away, left her in the deep forest to die, banished before she could even take a step or speak a word.
Kyatria's salvation came at the hand of a simple human. A gruff man, of questionable character and loose morals, discovered the winged child. Marcus Aldern, who led a band of misfit sellswords, chose to take the baby in despite the misgivings of his men. Marcus himself questioned whether he could give the girl a good life, but he intended on trying rather than leaving her to die, at least until a proper home could be found for her.
Days turned to weeks, to months, to years, and as Marcus roamed with his men, he also found that he was growing attached to the young torian girl, to the point that his quest to find her a home and family were eventually forgotten as the girl began to walk and speak. She saw him as a father, and he adored the young girl as if she were his own. As she grew, it was clear the young darkwing had a rebellious streak, and it was often that her adopted father had to rescue her from leaping from the branches of a tree in a failed attempt at flight. Still, as she grew smarter, and stronger, Marcus himself saw the potential in the girl…and, on her sixteenth birthday, he chose to train her in combat, as his father had trained him.
With the passing years, she had become almost a mascot for the group, who had jokingly come to call her "Bloodwing" after her crimson-tipped feathers. Now, she was truly a part of them, and for two years she fought fiercely beside them. But that all was destined to come to an end. Her father fell in battle during a campaign that had already sorely taxed the small mercenary force. Knowing the Torian myths that those with dark wings bring ill fortune to those around them, the men began to grow uneasy, whispering to themselves when they thought Kyatria wasn't aware. Then, before her father's body was even properly buried, they made a move.
Tressa was jumped, bound, the girl…only eighteen years of age…stripped of her armor, her weapons, and held captive by men that she had known nearly all her life. Called names, struck, and even raped by the men, they intended to sell her at the next town they came across…to be rid of her and her ill luck, and to make a profit on the deal. But they had forgotten who had taught her everything she knew, and while one of the men chose to 'use' the girl, she snapped free of her bindings and slew him with his own dagger, flying off with naught but a few scraps of old clothing.
In her flight, she stumbled across Nanthalion, and the Inn so near to it. Since then, her former comrades have never come for her, and she has remained, making as much of a life for herself as she can…the best that she can.