Jakalyn Drost
Cleric 19, Red Mantis Assassin
Jakalyn Drost
Species
Human
Appearance
Jakalyn looks like a woman in her late thirties who has spent half her life at sea, in alleys, and under other people's roofs. Her face is narrow and composed, with high cheekbones softened by tiredness rather than age. Salt and sun have roughened the backs of her hands, while the rest of her skin remains carefully oiled and immaculate. She moves with an unsettling economy, never quite turning her head when her eyes will do, and she occupies less space than her authority should allow. The unexpected contradiction is her smile: broad, genuine, and almost domestic, the expression of someone pleased to see a neighbor bringing back a borrowed pot. It vanishes only when she gives an order. A single lock of hair at her right temple is dyed a deep, wet red, not bright crimson but the color of blood drying on dark cloth.
“Her voice is low, even, and carefully paced, with a faint Taldan polish over island vowels. She speaks as though every sentence is a clause in a contract.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
A narrow dyed-red lock at her right temple, maintained with meticulous care.
Hands roughened by salt, rope, and blades, with perfectly clean nails.
A habit of smiling warmly at people while discussing their death.
No mantis mask, despite her seniority and public association with the Red Mantis.
A faint scent of clove oil, sea salt, and oiled leather.
Her shadow seems to twitch a fraction of a second after she moves when she is under strong divine influence.
Voice
“Low, dry, and intimate, like a neighbor speaking across a kitchen table while deciding whether to tell you bad news.”
Clothing
A fitted coat of dark burgundy leather over layered black cloth, cut short at the hips for climbing and lined with gray silk stolen from a Taldan noble's wardrobe. Her sleeves are reinforced with flexible lacquered plates. She wears soft split-toe boots, a narrow belt of contract seals, and no mantis mask. A red thread is stitched through the inside hem of every garment.
Body Language
Jakalyn stands with her weight slightly forward, as if the floor might shift and she intends to move before it does. Her hands remain loose and open until violence becomes likely, at which point her fingers settle into the exact grip used on her sabers. She makes steady eye contact with frightened people and looks away from confident ones only long enough to make them wonder why.
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