Hestara Vulk

Hestara Vulk walking down a city street with both axes out, and the soldiers behind her keeping their distance

Hestara is two hundred and one, and as a D-grade she looks like a woman in her late twenties. She has her father's size and her mother's build: six foot three, broad-shouldered, and heavily muscled, but light on her feet in a way that big people usually are not. Her wild, shaggy blonde hair is worked into two thick braids at the front and left to do whatever it likes everywhere else, and a pair of large, tawny cat's ears stand up out of it, swiveling toward every sound. Her eyes are green and steady, and her sun-weathered face is usually smudged with dirt. A long, thick, pale-gold tail sweeps behind her. She wears battered brown leather armor riveted with steel plates, leather bracers, a broad belt with a round iron buckle, and a tattered dark red skirt over strapped thighs, with a great mantle of black feathers and fur across her shoulders and boots wrapped in black fur to the knee. She carries a battleaxe in each hand: one broad and bearded with a spike at its head, the other curved, with a row of spikes along its back.

Out of a fight, Hestara is loud, easygoing, and impossible to dislike for long. She laughs from the belly, eats enormously, and gambles with great enthusiasm and almost no skill. When she likes someone, she leans on them, casually and with her full weight, exactly like an oversized housecat, and she sees nothing unusual about this. Her ears give her away: they flatten when she is irritated and swing toward trouble before she has turned her head. Do not touch them without asking. People who have done so remember it.