|Nickname(s)||They went to the grave with the man who gave them.|
|Class||Priest of Mitra|
|Guild||Thunder River Company|
|Professions||Occasional Armor Smith|
Blue eyes bright as the skies over Tarantia in the morning and platinum blond hair twined in braids are, perhaps, the best features of Jahnya. In a sea of faces within the tide of the great city she once called home she would not stand out. It is perhaps, the unwavering calm behind cerulean eyes which speaks more than aristocratic, but plain features. An almost too wide mouth is often expressive, either pursed, pulled into a line or twitched into a wide smile. When she smiles the corners of each eye crinkles slightly with her amusement, a hint of the crow's feet to come with age. Grinning often reveals a crease in each cheek, a testament to the fact the woman is more often laughing than maudlin. She prefers neck to ankle, plain robes of grey and blue. She can, however, be cajoled by the clergy on occasion to don the overtly bright, pristine white robes for special occasions.
If and when she is called to do Mitra's work on the battle field Jahnya can be seen in stained leathers or tattered cloak, one fist tightly wrapped either around a strange feather bedecked stave, or her preferred weapon, a mace.
Unflinchingly serene on most occasions. The pale features of her face could be the inspiration to the next carver hired to decorate an empty temple of Mitra. Jahnya's expressions are genuine, earnest as well as honest with a touch of other-worldly calm that can some times be found within the truly pious of the church.
Rarely is she seen losing her temper or speaking impatiently. However, rumor has it that her behavior when younger was a different story and there are quick glimpses here and there of a once-spit fire simmering under the surface. She tends to not let things arise to the surface; Jahnya is not very easy to read or get to know right off the bat despite the impression she may be rather open.
To the world at large, Jahnya could also be called happy-go-lucky, despite the efforts of humanity to buckle and cave people toward bitterness. One of her flaws is her penchant to believe in the good nature of mankind over the bad, she is ever striving to prove that humanity is worth saving. For Mitra, of course.
Though the outside is calm and collected, the inside is most often in turbulence. Jahnya is terribly empathetic to the plight of others and is genuinely caring. This trait has landed her in several quandaries, such as those who may recognize it if she has an unguarded moment and are willing to use it against her. Obviously, several breaches of trust have made her hesitant in showing the world anything more than just the placid face of a priest with her heart dedicated to her God. Constantly battling with herself over the things which she deems imperfect within her, and thus, imperfect to Mitra, Jahnya tries her best to live up to the image of perfection, grace and nobility her doctrine teaches her to strive for. Unfortunately, she is human and often makes mistakes. These mistakes weigh heavily in her mind and are often subjects that push her to be far too hard upon her self inwardly.
Every once and a while, the priest has a habit of staring into nothing as if going terribly far away into memories unknown. It is almost as if the woman held quiet regrets and soft sorrow over things she will never name. It never lasts long, perhaps the time it takes for a small cloud to push by the sun, and she is back to her usual self.
Raised within a small but well-to-do villa within Old Tarantia, as a child, Jahnya had want for nothing. Her father was a reputable gem merchant who had fought tooth and claw to arise through social stations to amass a modest fortune. Jahnya as a child, had house hold servants but never slaves. She did not understand or know the concept of going hungry.
Sheltered and well protected, she was without a doubt incredibly spoiled in comparison to most children. Though her mother lost her life giving birth to Jahnya, she did not seem to miss her mother nor mind it so much. After all, how can one miss what one never had? Her father and the ladies working within the villa dotted upon her and she lived her early years in what some would call heaven. She was never mistreated and kept from the far reaching splatter of a blood soaked world, a princess, but a happy-go-lucky one she was.
This all changed however, as she neared her twelth birthday. Her father, dubious of the Nemedians encroaching upon the city and the world at large, decided to hire a childhood friend, Marius. Marius was an ex-soldier within Taranatia's glorious legions, and not at all prepared to deal with the demanding, commanding, spoiled little girl that was suddenly thrust into his care. Marius was a man who brought the real world to Jahnya, whether she was ready for it or not. Despite her efforts to push Marius out of her father's employment with tearful fits, screaming, further commands, insults and horrid little monster behavior--Marius stubbornly remained. At one point, Jahnya's treatment and reaction to Marius became so awful that even her father offered to let Marius go if he so chose. Marius refused. He said, "That girl's just untempered iron. Full of sparks and likely to burn, but once y' get her to the anvil I think she'll shape up."
Shape up she did, as Marius refused to allow the girl's behavior to shake him, Jahnya slowly began to accept her appointed bodyguard. Four years in his protection, Jahnya learned how truly sheltered she was and countless important lessons that helped shape the woman she has become. At the age of sixteen, credible marrying age, Marius finally left the house hold to join the clergy of Mitra, something he'd been wanting to do since he left the military.
Jahnya, unwilling to go through a pre-arranged marriage to a hardly known noble her father had to practically pay, gave up everything to follow in Marius' footsteps. In spite of her father being heart broken, Jahnya chose to trail behind the massive shadow of Marius for good or ill will.
Her father passed away on her twentieth birthday, passage through the treacherous Wild Lands was filled with all manner of beasts. Unfortunately for her father, he and his caravan found plenty of them and did not make their fated shipment of gems to Poitain. Not a year later, at the age of twenty one, Marius also passed in border skirmish with the Nemedians.
She has never truly recovered over the loss of two of the most important (and only) people in her life. Though she strives to make friends and share the words as well as blessings of Mitra, there is always a shadow of regret lurking carefully hidden behind blue eyes.