Mirielle Rosseau, second Warmaster of the Iakmes campaign, architect of Arslan's Liberation, Condottiero of La Banda Rossa.
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"I have lost many of my friends, allies, subordinates and compatriots. Too many to list. But I am Not Dead Yet."
- Mirielle Rosseau, in retrospect of her career.
An actress and singer, a sword-dancer who's skills were improvised and honed by the harsh reality of the City-that-Was. A survivor of the apocalypse and a refugee that fled to Il Modo. Over time, she took the Square Sail Company and plied the trade of a sellsword, for the alternative was living in the Humbles of Il Modo with the other refugees.
Mirielle was drawn by the history and reputation of La Banda Rossa, starting as far back with Tancredo and Lusidra. Where law and mercy do not exist, reputation is a currency - it has to be, when foundations are built upon unspoken assurances and implications. In this regard, La Banda Rossa, by her approximation, would be a rich patron to her.
For two years, she has fought, braving this new world without instruction, each lash upon the skin by misfortune or surprise, shedding the innocence of gentle features and casting aside delicate gown for an armor of self-flayed leather. She learned that pride was second to the sum of the whole, that it was not individual greatness, but all, joined like fingers to form a fist, that made La Banda Rossa mighty. That each triumph was the efforts of her friends and allies, all whom know only the eternal reward of all who choose the sword and the neglect of its sheathe.
She also learned much of patience, and perseverance, for Izdu was cruel this way - to teach the lesson before the test, yet put Mirielle to the test before teaching her the lesson. So cruel a design, one could understand if she simply refused to keep taking it one day, that she might preserve the last vestiges of her ego and stay down, than face the reality of the situation. How simple a truth that is so easily overlooked - that one is required to stand back up, after getting knocked over. For Mirielle, this truth was observed during the fall of the Square Sails, then again, and again, each time a fellow of the banner fell, or when the public's whimsy soured and turned a blind eye to the injustice dealt to them.
These lessons, in a rare turn of events surrounding a mercenary, were shared broadly with the people of the city La Banda Rossa called its home, devoid of the usual currency that buys such wisdom: suffering. The war with Iakmes had begun, and over its duration, she lead men and women into battle, including those not of her banner, carefully committing them to task with full caution to their being.
Passion is a blaze, The Scald a perfect stage, how fitting that she would take to her role again, the armies as her audience, the clash of steel as song. A ringing reprisal of all that her strife had taught her, now joined together in grand harmony.
Where there was once enemies, she had found the courage to beg them for help.
Where they had once squabbled, she now elevated them, making them her champions, her lieutenants, her council and allies.
Where there was discord, there was now unity, and in a rare gesture of unity in an otherwise combative and irritable city, all hands took to the handle of the lance to pierce the champions of Iakmes, and bear the neck for Asherias to finish him, once and for all.
Agaslakku marks those who make conflict their trade, and speaks of bronze in times of war, and silver in times of peace. A duality that can be personified in the life and times of the Condottiero. There is no copper or tin to ply, here. Not for this sellsword.
She looks now to the future and its arrival, for all the opportunity it affords both the city, and of those with ambition.
Those of personal ambitions, drive for want of more in their lives, or military council against an enemy that is as a peer to Ephia's Well, will do well with her presence, if not in her proud colors. The contract may be the bind that forges her loyalty, but for the Condottiero, what she hopes for Ephia's Well, is strength.
A position of strength, for proud Ephia to stand and meet all whom treat with her, in eye level and never upon one knee.
This, one builds, together, day by day, victory after victory, with discipline, trust and reputation.
This entry was posted by the Scribes of the Sublime Garden, whom graciously received bribes for their expedited workload.