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The background of Ophira was steeped in mystery; some say she was swept in on the tide as a babe on a bundle of shipwrecked wood and seafoam, others that she was raised by seals along the coast. But isn't that the way of fisher folk and pirates? To concoct great tales and stories? But, the entire truth of the matter is that she is the daughter of a Count Paolo Seraceni, who whisked Ophira away thinking Setarco would be better than Ischia for his beloved daughter. It would be able to provide her with opportunities that only growing up a ward of House Pravus could provide. She was subjected to the lavish wiles of the city and seemed to unknowingly follow in the footsteps of her brother Dio, being a student of The School of Steel and Silk and graduating with high marks in naval military tactics and strategy. While there, news of another talent leaked in the form of her song, her clear and haunting singing voice was known to lull many a trainee into sleep and remain like an echo in their dreams. Eventually it got into the hands of Pravus Lords and Ladies, testing her mettle throwing her into one outrageous event to the next where debaucheries and delights were many for all that attended - as is only right for such a widely talked about city. The Seraceni female slithered forth like a creature born to such a task, earning her the title Siren of Setarco. The cost of such renown was fantastical gossip involving accusations of pacts made with abyssal fiends, often peddled by sailors and envious aristocrats. With education completed and mind expanded, Ophira returns to the place of her birth with the hope of rekindling a relationship with her distant brother and seeing what use he might have for a mind bent on expansion and of course, as is only befitting, plundering glory.

Looking like a creature summoned from the very air, the sylphic glide of form as it moved with cool assurance caused not a disturbance upon the ground in which she walked. Only the rustle of skirts, like a tumbling leaf strewn haphazardly by the wind, announced the quiet presence of Lady Ophira. All graceful svelte lines, there was naught a blemish on the dusky expanse of skin from pristine fingertip to slim swan neck. Dusky tone was offset with a glossy tumble of dark, midnight black hair that was set in a loose braid that rested at her hips. The darkened curling tendrils often broke loose from the confines of it's tie, brushing against the noblewoman's features where power lurked. It was not in lips that were often set in a cunning line of interest, a tease of a smile at the corner of mouth as if she knew a secret you did not, lower lip a bit fuller than upper making it more grippable by pearly whites in a thoughtful bite. The power was not in the high browed, pronounced cheekbones of an aristocratic face nor the straight nose that held a delicate point. As one might expect it was in large, burdensome eyes that were framed by a thickened cluster of dark lashes, leaving expression sultry in it's heavy lidded questing for what lay at the true heart of those that were fortunate or in some circumstances most unfortunate to have crossed her path.

Gifted with an infectious spirit of charming wiles and sultry stares, there was very little that seemed to break the carefree exterior, pleasant companionship found in those ranging from low to high birth - for weren't they all slaves to the Wheel? Every smile was a serpentine suggestion to beckon one closer, the plunge of absinthe flecked gaze was evocatively familiar in the way it lingered too long on any particular person, as if foretelling some prophecy that had only been revealed to Ophira herself. All in all, she was a calculating individual whose mind was always a step ahead - ready for any storm. Whether it be the thunder of applause as her voice graces the ears of many, or the gale that comes her way in the midst of oceanic warfare.