Nalia Mtembe
Fighter
Nalia Mtembe
Species
Human
Appearance
A slim young woman with wiry strength, strong shoulders, and forearms corded by years of lifting packs, levering wagon wheels, and hauling frightened travelers through snow. She stands in a three-quarter view with a slight forward lean, usually resting more weight on the balls of her feet than on her heels, as if every quiet moment might become a sprint. Her sun-browned olive skin is roughened at the knuckles and reddened across the cheeks by high wind. Her warm hazel eyes are flecked with amber and seem softer when she is tired, not harder. Her chestnut hair is cut unevenly with a knife, one side brushing her jaw while the other curls against her collar. The unexpected softness of her face contrasts with the deliberate, almost military way she checks every doorway. She leaves an impression of a field mouse that learned to stand between wolves and the fire.
“Low and clear, with a mountain cadence that makes ordinary instructions sound like promises. She rarely raises her voice.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
Her shield is decorated with tiny white flowers that are nearly invisible beneath dirt and scratches.
She has an uneven knife-cut chestnut bob, with one side shorter than the other.
A carved wooden whistle hangs at her throat, polished smooth where her thumb repeatedly touches it.
She carries a pouch of broken buckles collected from wagons she helped repair or rescue.
Within a minute of meeting her, most people notice that she watches their footing before their face.
Voice
“A low, warm contralto roughened by cold air, with clipped consonants and a habit of softening the last word of a warning.”
Clothing
A dented chain shirt over a faded russet tunic, patched brown trousers, mud-dark boots, fingerless wool gloves, and a short gray cloak repaired with multicolored stitching. Her battered round wooden shield is reinforced with iron and painted with tiny faded white flowers beneath grime and scratches. A carved wooden whistle hangs at her neck, and a small pouch of broken buckles rests at her belt.
Body Language
Nalia keeps one shoulder slightly forward, as though presenting an invisible shield. When waiting, she rocks once from heel to toe and then becomes still. Her hands are rarely idle: she tightens a strap, rubs a dent in her shield, or folds and refolds a scrap of cloth. When someone lies, she does not stare at them. She looks at their boots.
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