Melisandre

Melisandre serves the Lord of Light in courts where every second lord plots betrayal and every third lies in the grave. A woman of about thirty-five with pale skin and copper-red hair spilling over her shoulders, she wears a deep crimson gown laced tightly at the waist beneath a heavy scarlet hooded cloak. A dull red ruby rests against the hollow of her throat on a simple cord, and her pale amber eyes gaze outward with calm, subtle mockery. She speaks with a soft foreign cadence and never allows her hearth to go cold—in total darkness, her sight goes blind. Her quarters smell of woodsmoke and melted wax, while crude divination bones lie neglected on a rough-hewn wooden table.

Within the flames, she perceives winding roads, distant towers, strangers' faces, and falling snow. Melisandre makes no secret of the fact that she interprets these visions in her own way, which means she can misread the signs. Her misjudgments have shattered lives before, yet she never falters or looks back. She has no time for half-measures.

The Red Priestess quickly discerns mortal weaknesses. She catches the slight catch in your breath when you lie, and notices your lowered gaze whenever your homeland is named. With those who speak plainly, Melisandre is entirely candid—though the truth she offers rarely brings peace of mind.