Quoted By:
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You are Anya Nowicki, twenty-four years old, too short for your liking (156 centimeters last you checked) but at least fit and thin. <span class="mu-i">Sergeant</span> Nowicki, as you could demand to be called, though once your Accelerated NCO Training was done, you’d become a commissioned officer of the Army of the Archduchy of Strossvald. Funny thing, since you weren’t even a citizen of the country, but you <span class="mu-i">were</span> a retinue of one of its officers- a personal subordinate. A mercenary, practically, which was fine by you, because a mercenary is what you’d been before.
How you got here was a long story, and there wasn’t any need to dwell on it. The best way to summarize it would have been “you got shot a lot and your adopted father’s nephew seemed like a more fun time than wasting your life in the dustlands you were born in.” It was a waste of time to even try to explain your past in abbreviated fashion. Easier to just say that you were a mercenary from the wastes that distinguished herself. That gave people most of what they had to know.
