Tall, well-built and broad of shoulder, Astraea stands an obvious physical presence. Even were it not for her choice in arms and attire it would be all too easy to recognise her as a warrior – one born for war rather than merely trained to meet it – and it’s rare for her to make any show at hiding her nature. She has the air of one with blood and violence behind her and scars enough to dispel any doubts, so it's less than surprising that strangers tend to offer her a wide berth. It hardly matters how she bears herself; to some she’ll always be a danger and a threat before a person.

The truth is somewhat less bleak. While undoubtedly marked by death and darkness, Astraea is someone principled, honest and above all else loyal by nature. Maybe sometimes she can be as expressive and open as a wall, her shoulders high and tight with wariness, but when they come her smiles and laughter speak to someone who wasn’t always what she is now. There’s a real warmth and genuine kindness to her in those moments which can feel utterly surreal to those who only know her from the battlefield. In war her inner monster stirs.

Of course some would say that’s hardly surprising. She is Marsci after all, and what are the Marsci but brutes so enamoured by war that they go abroad in search of it. Certainly she has the wolfish features of heritage, the sharp yet cold eyes bordering on grey. Her hair is more rust than truly red but against her skin and muted wardrobe it feels bold. Indeed her dark garb tends to draw the eye more to the details than the whole – the whorling tattoos about her left arm, dull armour shielding the right, and intricate patterns to her gorget that suggests some money somewhere in her life. But then there will always be work for muscle in dark times.

Her blade is long and black and seldom drawn. A cultural thing, she says: it must always taste blood once freed from its sheath lest ill fortune befall the bearer.

A lie of sorts, but one very much grounded in the truth...

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