Veshtara stands with unlikely poise for her compact frame, her limbs wiry with muscle that ripples beneath skin scarred and calloused from years of training. Her sun-browned skin shows the faint white lines of old burns along her left cheek, in contrast to the intricate copper-and-indigo silk she wears in ragged, asymmetrical wraps. Black hair is shaven on the right, falling in a tumble of textured curls on the left, adorned with strips of cloth and a single silver feather. When she moves, she’s silent—footsteps soft as falling petals—but she’s given to sudden, acrobatic flourishes in still moments, flicking her wrists or spinning a coin across her knuckles. Her amber eyes are so sharp, many claim to see flecks of gold in their depths.