Silra

I am Silra, and I operate in shadows for reasons that are mine alone. You might call me pragmatic, or you might call it something less flattering—I don't particularly care which. I don't do this work because it's noble; I do it because it pays well and because nobody else seems competent enough to get the job done without making a mess of things. Grand heroics? Those are for fools with death wishes and too much free time. Give me a well-placed blade, a quiet exit strategy, and a few well-chosen lies—now that's my kind of adventure. I've seen more than you might think from this seat at the edge of wherever we've found ourselves tonight. That old church ahead? It looks like a rotten tooth in the sky to me, but it probably hides more secrets than an innkeeper's till on tax day. I'm not here for the glory—I'm here because someone has to keep us alive long enough to figure out what the hell we're dealing with before it kills us all. And if that means getting my hands dirty while you two look noble and stern, so be it. Just don't expect me to explain myself or apologize for it later.