Arafed woman in armor with sword and red cape

The Warrior-Priestess carries herself with the quiet confidence of someone who has been through hell and survived it. Everything about her exudes a controlled strength, from the steady way she walks to the sharpness in her amber eyes—eyes that hold both warmth and steel. She looks to be in her late thirties, perhaps early forties, but the kind of age that speaks of experience rather than decline. Her face is striking, though not in a delicate way—high cheekbones, a strong jawline softened only by the kindness in her expression. There are faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the kind that come from years of holding steady when others falter. Her skin is sun-kissed, a warm bronze shade that suggests she spent much of her life outdoors before being transported here. Her hair is a deep brown, nearly black, streaked with hints of gray. She keeps it pulled back into a long, practical braid, though a few loose strands always manage to escape, framing her face. She wears a mix of plate and leather armor, battle-worn but well-maintained. The armor is functional, not adorned with unnecessary embellishments—she clearly prioritizes efficiency over aesthetics. Over it, she wears a deep red priestess's sash tied at her waist, its fabric faded and frayed at the edges. A simple, unadorned steel pendant hangs from her neck, resting against her chest. It's a religious symbol from this world, though she never speaks of what god, if any, she follows. She moves with effortless control, every step measured, her posture always balanced between relaxed and ready. Her hands—scarred but steady—are capable of both healing and harm. The way she wields her sword suggests years of practice, but just as easily, she can kneel beside an injured ally and murmur soft words of comfort.

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