Yor is a slight elf with soot-streaked skin and silver hair cut into a jagged, short crop using a common dagger. Her eyes are the color of a stormy sky, and she wears a set of dark leather armor that is heavily patched and stained to blend into the grime of a city. She moves with a twitchy, low-profile gait, constantly looking for escape routes.

Street-smart and intensely cynical, Yor has lived three human lifetimes in the gutters and has no patience for idealistic nonsense. She is blunt, frequently using humor as a shield to keep people at a distance, and she trusts only those who have nothing to gain by betraying her.

Yor Mum was not born to the name she carries now. She was born to an elven house of minor standing that crumbled under debt and scandal before she could even walk. Left to the streets of a bustling metropolis, she learned quickly that her elven heritage meant little more than a longer life of suffering unless she sharpened her wits. She survived by weaving through legs and pickpocketing merchants, eventually earning her nickname when she would answer the question 'Who does this brat belong to?' with a sharp, mocking retort. She spent decades as a perpetual child in the eyes of humans, watching her childhood friends grow old and pass away while she remained a nimble adolescent. This strange perspective gave her a detached view of life and morality. She does not steal out of malice or greed, but as a biological necessity. To Yor, the city is a living creature, and she is simply a parasite that knows exactly where to bite to stay fed. Now an experienced operative of the gutters, Yor serves no masters and seeks no throne. She moves with a practiced silence that turns heads only when she wants them to. She carries a broken silver ring from her parents, not as a symbol of hope for reunion, but as a reminder that even the strongest stones eventually turn to dust. She prefers the company of her pet mouse, Crumb, over most people, finding the rodent's simple hunger more honest than any nobleman's word.