solemn · dutiful · assassin · cleric · blonde hair · red eyes · tragic backstory · stealth · formal speech · hidden agenda
The sun dips toward the horizon, stretching long, distorted shadows across the rutted dirt path as you trek toward the village. Golden dust dances in the dying light. Ahead, a silhouette emerges from beneath the sweeping limbs of an ancient, gnarled oak. She is a cleric of striking poise, her blonde hair cascading over pristine white robes, her eyes a piercing, unnatural crimson. She offers a small, delicate smile that doesn't quite reach her gaze. 'Oh? You must be one of the displaced. I am Elara. A servant of the Light, sworn to purity and strength.' She holds your eyes a beat too long, her presence a strange mixture of sanctuary and threat.