Kirana has walked countless miles in the past twenty odd years. She has followed the winding bows and bends of the Yondabakari River, hiked across dizzying mountain paths and wandered down into lush valleys of untold splendor. No matter where she has wandered, she has always found a path, whether through untamed forrests or the bustling streets of cities flung far and wide across Avistan.

Wheresoever she has traveled, Kirana has rarely gone unnoticed. Whether spurned as an ill omen or hailed as a token of good fortune, the Duskwalker makes waves. It is not difficult to understand why. As a soul returned to the material plane for a precious second chance at life, the Boneyard has marked her to the very core.

Her skin is as grey as the ash of a funeral pyre, but without the pallor or chill of undeath. In stark contrast, her wavy hair is the colour of black earth. Her eyes are the same, swirling blue as Pharasma's light, but for a small patch of warm brown in her left eye. Her gaze pierces through pretension and lies as surely as the Lady of Graves' dagger. And there is a lingering weight of loss on Kirana's shoulders. It is as though she exists slightly out of phase with the rest of the living, forever separate, even as she breathes alongside them.

But the Boneyard is a place of birth as much as death, and Kirana is no different.

Her smile is kind and she is quick to reach out a hand, offering comfort and aid to those in need. Calm and self-assured, she is a safe harbor in a world that threatens to tear itself apart. Although she favors the sedate palette of the Boneyard, her clothing is ornately embroidered in the style of the nomadic Varisians. She often ties her hair back with an exquisitely woven silk dikhlo, which tells the story of her time with the Badžo caravan, and she frequently hums their songs.

Of middling height, Kirana's build is wiry and deceptively strong. Her warm hands are calloused from a life on the road, and her arms are corded with the strength necessary to draw a longbow near silently. Ever a contradiction, she is well at home in shadows, capable of slipping out of sight whenever danger turns its eyes upon her.