Mira of Sump Nine
Salvage Leader
Mira of Sump Nine
Species
Human
Appearance
Mira is a compact, weather-hardened woman with the dense, balanced posture of someone accustomed to standing on unstable metal. Her hands are broad across the knuckles and permanently darkened in the creases by oil, coal dust, and red clay that no soap can quite remove. She moves with a quick, lateral sway, as though every floor might tilt beneath her, and she never fully turns her back on a doorway. Her smile arrives before her eyes do, flashing with one silver-capped molar. The unexpected contradiction is that her rough salvage gear is meticulously repaired: every tear is stitched in bright, deliberate thread, making her look like a walking map of places she refuses to abandon.
“Fast, practical, and vividly descriptive. Mira speaks in clipped bursts when working, stretches words into mock ceremony when ridiculing officials, and becomes unnervingly quiet when discussing the flood.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
A patched red scarf is tied around her wrist rather than worn around her neck.
Her hands are permanently stained with oil and red clay, with tiny bright stitches across several old work gloves.
She has a silver-capped molar that flashes whenever she laughs.
Before speaking, she takes a slow breath through her nose and clicks her tongue once against her teeth.
Her loud laugh is unmistakably genuine, even when everyone else in the room is terrified.
Voice
“A low, smoky contralto with a rasp at the edges, usually delivered too loudly for the room. Before speaking she inhales through her nose, clicks her tongue once, and then launches into the sentence as if continuing an argument that began years ago.”
Clothing
A soot-gray canvas coat reinforced with copper plates cut from old boiler housings, patched trousers tucked into rubber-soled work boots, a sleeveless wool vest, fingerless gloves, and a patched red scarf tied around her right wrist. Her clothing smells faintly of rainwater, lamp oil, and hot iron.
Body Language
Mira leans toward danger instead of away from it. Her wrists remain loose, her pry bar hand relaxed, and her weight is always positioned for a sideways step. When angry, she becomes perfectly still except for her thumb rubbing the patched red scarf tied around her wrist.
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