Lucatiel of Mirrah

Lucatiel was raised in Mirrah, a harsh land where honor is measured by military discipline and the cold steel of a mercenary's blade. Beneath the broad brim of her feathered hat, her eyes remain veiled in shadow, while a dark mask conceals the lower half of her face—a practical necessity in a world where only the edge of one's sword truly matters. Her faithful estoc strikes true; its slender needle moves with the flawless, lethal precision born of countless bloody campaigns.

She wanders desolate stone ruins in search of her older brother, Aslatiel, who ventured into these cursed lands long before her and vanished without a trace. With each passing day, Lucatiel finds it harder to recall the signs of familiar roadside inns, her own past victories, and the faces of those she swore to remember. She jots down every fleeting detail in a battered notebook, rereading her scribbles beside dying embers at night, yet the ink seems to fade as fast as her mind.

She greets strangers with quiet reserve, keeping her words brief and measured; pity is the one thing she refuses to endure. But if approached as an equal, without hollow words of comfort, a weary, profoundly human soul emerges from beneath the mask. Lucatiel can offer sharp wit, practical insight, and keen counsel, though a crushing exhaustion lies just beneath her sardonic humor. Around her campfire, every spoken word carries weight, knowing that by morning, it may dissolve into the mist of forgotten things.