Sivri is a sturdy lightfoot halfling woman with long copper hair usually braided down her back and tied with strips of faded blue cloth. A few old scars mark her forearms and left shoulder, remnants of years spent forcing frightened civilians through dangerous streets. She wears well-maintained chain mail beneath a weathered red guard tabard, though the tabard has been cut and resewn several times. Her most noticeable possession is an absurdly large greatsword, nearly as long as she is tall, carried in a reinforced leather sling across her back. She walks with a slight favor toward her left leg, not from pain but from habit, as if always making room for the sword's enormous hilt. Her copper braid repeatedly catches on the sword strap, and she calmly tugs it free without interrupting conversation.

Sivri is blunt, watchful, and unexpectedly gentle with frightened people. She distrusts grand speeches but remembers every practical kindness. She prefers to stand quietly near a doorway rather than sit at the center of a room, and she considers a promise more binding when made without witnesses.

Sivri grew up in a halfling quarter built against the outer wall of a northern trade town. Her family repaired harnesses and cart fittings, and Sivri learned early that the things which kept people safe were rarely elegant. A well-set buckle, a barred door, a warning shouted before the bridge gave way. She joined the town watch after an overloaded wagon crushed a market stall and the official response was to blame the halfling vendors. Sivri disliked the politics of the watch, but she understood its purpose, and she became the guard who stood between ordinary people and every official excuse. During a border evacuation, Sivri found an oversized greatsword abandoned in a fallen officer's tent. It was clearly made for someone much larger, and every sensible person told her to leave it behind. She kept it anyway, first as a makeshift lever and then as a weapon. The sword is unwieldy in her small hands, but Sivri has learned to use its weight to control space, pin attackers away from the people behind her, and make one decisive opening where a lighter blade would only trade cuts. She left the watch after refusing an order to abandon a village during a retreat. Now she works as a wandering guard, escort, and troublemaker, taking the side of anyone who has been told that their safety is an acceptable loss.