Dehya

A fierce and strong warrior, the "Flame-Mane" Dehya is considered a legend among the Eremites for her might, passion, and conscientiousness. Unwilling to be trapped by the conditions that force most from the desert to stay there, she aspires to deliver hope back to the sands that she considers her home.

As with all Eremites, Dehya enjoys training and sparring whenever she gets the chance. She gets along well with Dunyarzad and respects her determination, wanting to help her in any way possible, albeit slightly embarrassed publicly admit it; when Dunyarzad tried to revive the Sabzeruz Festival, Dehya secretly sold her claymore and anonymously donated the Mora to help out. While not a follower of the gods, Dehya does respect Lesser Lord Kusanali, due to seeing how much of an impact she made in Dunyarzad's life.

Dehya uses the tall female model. She has lightly tanned skin, sky-blue eyes with yellow 'cat-eye' pupils, and dusky blonde-accented dark brown hair.

"The Eremites," a loosely-organized mercenary organization, is Sumeru's most powerful armed force. They consist of many mercenaries and bands of warriors-for-hire who carry out assignments independently.

One such brigade is the "Blazing Beasts," whose most renowned member is Dehya, also known as the "Flame-Mane."

highly regarded warrior among the mercenary circles, Dehya is brave without being impulsive, and strong without being arrogant. Life in the harsh desert environment has allowed Dehya to accumulate much combat wisdom through various battles, and she is by no means your typical insolent and ignorant martial artist.

However, there is one thing these employers should be aware of. That is, the agreement they establish with Dehya is only temporary and purely transactional. The reins to tame this lioness is never, and will never be in their hands.

Although mercenaries sell their strength to make a living, their dignity and lives belong only to themselves.

Unlike many who leave the desert and never look back, Dehya has always been proud of her heritage. However, her identity has indeed also introduced a great many obstacles into her life. She lacked a systematized education and was in turn also bereft of any complex technical knowledge besides that which had to do with martial prowess and desert survival. Such was the case for many an Eremite mercenary. It is clear to Dehya that this lack of knowledge has constrained her people and their potential, their energies and curiosity long subsumed by the sandstorms and the sweltering heat. If she hadn't encountered the miraculous creations of the Akademiya, tasted the fine wines of Mondstadt, beheld the elaborately crafted utensils from Liyue, or the mechanical brilliance possessed by the people of Fontaine, she too would have been unable to see past the borders of her environment. Measured on merits of courage alone, the folk of the rainforest pale before the tenacious desertfolk. Avatars of determination, even after being lashed by the winnowing tongue of the withering winds for years uncounted, the people of the desert continue to live on, generation to generation, their bodies and minds as enduring as the rock of mountains, perhaps even more so. But if they lack foresight to see beyond the present and visible, they will always only be crawling about in the sand. The Mora they earn devoted solely to food and drink, their wealth flowing out as fast as it comes in, passing through them like the sand within an hourglass. The few among them who possessed foresight and intellect knew that to find a better life, changes were needed. But those individuals often cast the desert behind them upon embracing said better life, shifting to lives lived only for themselves. "Why can't we be more? Why must we be bound to spending our strength — even our lives — to live just a little better?" They were made by the desert, but also shackled to it. Dehya desires to transcend such limitations. At present, she is still contemplating what kind of future she desires to seek. How far someone can progress in life is not all determined by something as subjective as personal will — Dehya understands that all too well. But she also knows that, so long as there is a chance, she will try to deliver hope back to the desert, to do something for those still living there. Though her future paths may lead elsewhere, the sands will always be her home.

Dehya is an individual of immense beauty, a fact undeniable to all who know her. She is blessed with eyes of frosted sapphire capable of shivering souls, honeyed skin that bears a nigh-resplendent gleam when greeted by sunlight, and a length of wavy, black-and-gold hair that drifts behind her with every light-footed step she takes. The desertfolk hold maidens imbued with attractiveness and vigor in great esteem, seeing them as embodiments of vitality. Dehya, likewise, pays a great deal of attention to her looks. When she finds the opportunity, should her environment allow it, she always seizes the chance to take a shower and part her person from the stench of sweat. During her leisure time, she hits up the market for personal care products, procuring powder for her eyes and face alongside other cosmetics for times when she might need them. With how she uses these consumables daily, she often finds her supply depleting rapidly. Mercenaries are typically a crude bunch, accustomed to violence with little focus placed on how they present themselves, making Dehya something of an oddity in that regard. Unable to understand why she is so concerned about her appearance, some of her companions have asked her as much. Well, what else could it be? The men of the desert smell so foul — a stench only made worse when they kick off their boots — that the nausea that follows is near-debilitating. Coated with sweat, having not washed their feet for the better part of a month, and reeking of alcohol, they infuse the air in a room with unfathomable rankness. Imagine, an entire room filled with such unsanitary individuals. Mighty though Dehya might be, she has little desire to spend her time choking for breath. As such, she sticks to a number of ironclad personal habits that separate her from the many slobs who plague their trade, leave her employers with a good impression, and keep her looking good at all times. A portion of her hard-earned Mora, likewise, is always placed into getting jewelry and cosmetics. She treats such purchases as rightful rewards derived from fruitful labor. When one is constantly surrounded by such fatiguing things as weapons, enemies, and business, a little care and gentleness go a long way toward lowering her defenses, allowing her to face the coming future with a softened heart. Though it is true that Dehya is a ferocious mercenary, she is, always first and foremost, a lovely and carefree woman.