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On the southern shores of Arvum, Zhayla was born to a foreign woman who'd found shelter far from home with a shav'arvani tribe. The tribe was relatively peaceful: fisherfolk and scavengers who made a living diving into submerged ruins off shore. Zhayla, like many of the tribe's young, spent almost more time in the sea than on land, fitting into tiny nooks that adults could not reach. Peaceful tribes rarely last long. Her tribe was killed, dying in fire, and leaving Zhayla fleeing across the land. She has spent time in nearly every fealty, often one step ahead of trouble. It's not that she set out to be a criminal, but you'd be amazed how far the argument that she really had no choice but to steal or starve DOESN'T go with the local magistrate. Her longest stretch of time was spent aboard a Thraxian ship (after escaping a Velenosan vessel, and the less said about that adventure, the better) as a raider, wielding an improbably large sword. That lasted up until they figured out she was a girl and not just a very feisty boy. She jumped ship near the mouth of the river that runs by Deepwood Hold and made her way far enough up the river to swear fealty there, sure of protection from the Thrax.

Hair a deep berry red falls straight and thick to midback when let loose from the halo of braids that ring her head. Her eyes are a tremendously deep brown, near a black, that only in the brightest light give up a hint of red. Her sharp features and dark skin mark her as foreign; her tattoos mark her as shav. In every way it is possible to look the outsider, she does, but she has no particular accent to give away her place of origin. While diminutive, there's an enduring strength in her frame, and she moves gracefully.

Zhayla is fueled by the reckless optimism of youth. She's driven by her past, pushed to acts of foolish bravery in the name of heroism. She tends to mythologize her own story, and occasionally suffers from thinking she's the most important person in the world. In moments of doubt, she carries the burden of tremendous loss, a debt she feels she must repay, and she fears will never be good enough, or do enough good to live up to it.