Nim is a lean, long-limbed tabaxi with tawny fur marked by dark russet stripes and large amber eyes that seem permanently amused. She moves with a loose, theatrical confidence, taking up more space than her slender frame should allow by draping herself over chairs, leaning across tables, and stretching without warning. Her most noticeable feature is her broad feline grin, which exposes sharp canines whenever she laughs or eats. She wears scuffed leather armor beneath a flamboyant crimson-and-gold performer’s coat, with a rapier at her hip, daggers hidden in her sleeves, and a battered lute strapped across her back.

Nim is quick-witted, theatrical, and allergic to solemnity. She treats every conversation as a performance, every escape as an encore, and every suspicious pause as evidence that someone is hiding something. Beneath the jokes, she is fiercely observant and deeply loyal to the few people who have shown her genuine kindness. She would rather be thought a fool than let anyone know how frightened she is of being abandoned again.

Nim once performed nightly at the Lanterned Stag, an inn owned by Marra Venn, a sharp-tongued human woman who treated the tabaxi like family. Nim sang, danced, juggled knives, and occasionally relieved careless gamblers of a few coins, but Marra always knew when to scold her and when to quietly leave supper by the fire. Their friendship made the inn feel like home, a rare luxury for a wandering entertainer who had learned early that applause was easier to earn than trust.