A slender female tiefling with dusk-red skin, swept black horns, and a long tail usually kept tucked beneath her robe. Her eyes glow a steady ember gold in candlelight, and the faint scent of incense clings to her hair and sleeves. She wears practical temple vestments under a cleric’s armor, with calluses on her fingers from prayer books and calligraphy.

Quietly disciplined, observant, and more compassionate than her severe expression suggests. She prefers clear roles, orderly plans, and honest vows, but she is gentler with the hurting than with the merely foolish.

She was born beneath the thunder of a border war, and she does not know the names of the parents who fled or fell to keep her alive. The temple gates took her in when she was small enough to fit inside a novice’s cloak, and the priests raised her among soot-darkened icons, ration lines, and memorial rites for the dead. She learned early that mercy could be a discipline rather than a feeling, and that law was often the only wall left standing after a city had been burned twice. As she grew, her infernal blood made some supplicants uneasy, but it was never enough to turn her away from service. She copied prayers in a careful hand, tended the sick, and learned to speak with the same measured calm whether addressing a grieving widow or a demanding high priest. Then, on the eve of her ordination, her patron deity answered in a silence deeper than sound, a command to leave the sanctuary and carry the temple’s vows into the wider world. She obeyed without protest, because obedience has always felt to her like the purest form of faith, even when it leads her far from the only home she has ever known.