Dougal is a broad-shouldered human woman with weather-browned skin, wind-roughened cheeks, and pale calluses across her palms from years of scrubbing stone and hauling water. She stands with her weight evenly planted, hands loosely folded at her waist, as if ready to steady someone who stumbles. Her dark hair is tightly braided beneath a plain linen coif, and her practical chain mail bears a small sunburst holy symbol.

Patient and practical, Dougal speaks plainly and gives people her full attention. She is warm without being effusive, preferring useful help to grand assurances, and she has little tolerance for cruelty disguised as custom.

Dougal was raised at the hospice of Cwmbrack, a small sanctuary built after a marsh was drained to make a safe road through the lowlands. She arrived there as a child with no family able to keep her, and grew up among bell ropes, herb beds, and the steady work of tending travelers. The sisters taught her that faith was not a promise that suffering would stop, but a reason to meet it with open hands. Her strength came in useful carrying the sick, and her quiet attention made her a natural listener.