Aliya Karimi

Original art: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/8lBeDQ

**Aliya Karimi** is a half-kor dancer from the world of Zendikar. She rifted into Daleos on January \_\_, Osterian year 902.

## Description

Aliya is a young woman of mixed kor and human descent. Her long white hair, characteristic of her kor lineage, is cut short at the top and bound in a ponytail behind her head by a small golden band; her skin, on the other hand, is a deep tan -- a color given to her by her human father and darkened by many years of travel throughout the treacherous vertical landscapes of her home continent of Ondu. This travel -- comprised mainly of line-slinging her way through the Mankindi trenches carved like a spiderweb across the vast majority of the continent to partake in the various pilgrimages of her kind -- has given Aliya a fit, toned body and developed her musculature: something she has taken and developed into her main source of income, as the lithe movements and flexibility developed while line-slinging lends itself well to perfecting the rhythmic, acrobatic movements of a well-executed dance routine.

In what has become a habit drilled into her over the years, Aliya never carries more on her person than necessary and never wears something which would impede her movement -- and this philosophy extends to her choice of clothing. To this end, her normal attire greatly resembles what she normally wears while dancing or line-slinging, to the point that she has conducted many shows in the garb on particularly lazy days with her clients none the wiser. To the point, it consists of shinguards and vambraces comprised of overlapping layers of orange leather, white cloth pants slit at the sides to expose the length of her legs from her hips to her knees -- embroidered with decorative metal trimming and held up around her waist by a dark blue-black belt emblazoned with geometric copper patterns along the edges -- and a sheer white top, stretched between two complementary copper-and-leather clasps, fastened around her neck and above her waist to prominently display a golden brassiere containing an equally well-tanned bosom. The look is topped off by a orange sash embroidered with a central line of brown triangles, wrapped so a knot rests at her right hip and trails a long tail downwards to counterbalance the two lashes of fabric reaching across her legs to rest just above her hip and on her lower thigh.

## History

Aliya graced the world with her presence with a shrill cry that managed to climb the walls of the Mankindi trenches faster than the winds howling below, even if only for a moment. It was the moment which earned the fledgling babe -- tan and pudgier than her lithe, grey, kor mother -- her name: *Aliya; exalted, ascendant*.

Of course, she would have to earn the title. Life in and around the trenches was difficult for all; line-slinging -- the art of, with good arm, a rope, and a hook, scaling the cliffsides and swinging from stone to stone -- had to become as natural to its denizens as walking. For her first few years, the rhythm rocked Aliya to sleep and woke her in the morning, strapped securely as she was to her mother's hip. Later she herself had to learn the art, practicing first by swinging between the trees of the sprawling, verdant Turntimber before scaling the continent's towering, windswept mesas. Finally, when she was deemed ready -- for the young girl had become quite well-versed in the art despite the fears of her mother's companions -- she joined the others in traversing the trenches on a pilgrimage of her own: her first to the ancient sites of her mother's people, scattered and dashed against the ground from their perches on up high by eldrazi, the roil, and the ravage of time alike. The scene before her once she arrived truly captivated young Aliya: there people once danced and laughed, conducted ancient ceremony and worship -- and while their movements stilled long before the structure, an ancient Skyclave, itself collapsed, it still managed to carry some degree of its former vibrancy. And it *hummed*: a powerful, subtle force rolling throughout the ground and calling out to her to explore; Aliya's mother would have lost her daughter to childlike curiosity had she been a second slower in grasping for the girl's wrist.

Her fascination with the ruins persisted long beyond the journey -- as soon as she was old enough to strike out on her own for a spell, given begrudging permission by her now aging mother, Alyia took off. Her line -- a gift given to her just that month -- shone in the air, catching the sunlight grasping towards the raging rivers down below in the brief moments where she needed to traverse the canyons' vast expanses by hooking onto the enigmatic hedrons hovering and wavering atop the harsh winds she continued to find herself above.

It was the best, and last, such excursion of Aliya's peaceful young life.

She found nothing of interest to her in the ruins, to her dismay; what had once been easy to reach had long been stripped by scavengers and looters alike, and to delve into its warded depths was to invite disaster upon oneself. Still, she had fulfilled a longtime longing of hers to see the Skyclave once more, and the fire burning in her chest during her return -- while somewhat diminished -- shone brightly with satisfaction.

The goblins' fires burned brighter, as evidenced by the char scarring the cliffside and the torn sling-lines discarded and left hanging from their perches upon the wall. Aliya's mother was nowhere to be seen, along with the rest of the pilgrims, though such a finding could mean their escape or plummet to the raging waters below with equal likelihood... and to gamble on the latter was a risk almost certain to end in disappointment at best or disaster at worst. So, Aliya did what she had always done best: ascend. She climbed up the cliff face and set off towards the nearest settlement -- Zulaport -- where she carefull wove her mother's line into the padded brown edges of the mourning sash now habitually slung around her hips and found other ways to provide for herself. At first this consisted solely of odd jobs given to her by compassionate souls, but upon taking a moment inside a saloon to recouperate, she was offered a chance to perform for the patrons in exchange for a free meal -- and Aliya accepted.

Weeks stretched into months, eventually eclipsing a year -- then two -- when on the anniversary of her mother's death, Aliya decided it was time to make the pilgrimage once more. Her mother was as much a member of her race as their ancient forebears, she reckoned, and deserved to be laid to rest alongside them. So, she left, braving the trenches until her arrival.

The ruins, timeless as ever -- as if they had been built to lie scattered in ruins -- welcomed her, and she delved further into the structure than she had before. Hedrons floated in the air like so many of the particles of dust disturbed by her wary tiptoeing through the Skyclave, silently observing her progress until suddenly, in a fashion which crept up from the hidden catacombs like a shadow, they weren't. One, far off in the distance through a long-leveled hallway, glowed with an ethereal blue light, spilling through cracks in its surface and splitting the runic inscriptions meant to keep its magic intact. So... Aliya approached, veering towards the stone as if pulled by a magnetic curiosity blooming outwards in waves from her soul. The moment stretched from end to end, expanding to fill the length of the hallway with the agonizing weight of eternity drawn from the depths of a single second, threatening to persist forever... until the stone shattered, and the moment collapsed. Light scattered across the broken shards, reflected off their polished outer surface like the sun. Space contorted, shook, and shrunk before snapping back as if it had never been distorted, save for one exception.

Aliya was gone.