Height: 5'5"

Weight: 180lbs

Hair: Long, thick ash blonde hair. Her grays are prominent at the crown and sides above her ears. She keeps anything below the shoulder braided, just like how her grandmother used to style her hair. She's insanely conscious of her age, and often goes out of her way to mask gray hairs by any means necessary.

Eyes: Her right eye is a golden hue of brown, while the left eye is a sickly green. A magical incident occurred during her teenage years that mutated the right eye's color. They are large and round, fully judging a stranger's every word and step. She may not be very good at reading people, but she's very obvious at trying.

Skintone: A smooth and consistent light caramel from many sunny days, flavored with freckles around the face and poisoned by wrinkles around eyes, hands, and smile. She's not old, but she feels like she's aging fast and her profession hasn't helped her skin condition at all. Without the luxury to stay indoors and lounge around all day, Twyla, in the past, has worked fast and hard to keep a meal on the table - and it's starting to show. Once delicate hands famed for luring young men is now the center of her heartbreak, as she is slowly watching herself become a crow.

Build: Lightly built with some tone to show around her legs. Twyla is well practiced at physically running away from her problems. The rest of her features are a little chunky from idle work and the curves of older, child-bearing age are starting to spill out of once-fitting clothes. She keeps telling herself she'll work off the extra pounds so there would be no need to buy newer pants.

Weapons of Choice: A dagger. When it comes to fight or flight, Twyla takes for the hills. In any situation where she is cornered with her back against the wall, a dagger is the perfect concealed weapon for up-close-and-personal encounters.

Armour of choice: Light and form fitting; the less bells and whistles, the better. Typical clothes laced with leather padding for extra defense is all she needs to reliably run away from combat.

Special Techniques: Playing up how terrible and weak she is to convince an opponent that she's not worth their time. Especially effective if she hasn't been caught doing anything yet. Has no magical abilities of her own and must rely on herbs and poisons to neutralize her targets if she feels up to it.

Backstory: Raised by a loving and caring elder, Twyla knew little hardship. It was her bond with childhood friends that lead her to care more about other people than herself. Going against home rules, she'd stay out all evening to play with the other kids and live up to their challenges. With her grandmother's passing, these friends became a tightly knit community when they reached adulthood: when dares became creed and friendship became second family. They needed and depended on each other to cheat, steal, and pass each day with a thrilling heist to keep the money flowing. Each had a part to play. The herbalist, the artificer, the informer, the infiltrator, the fence and the leader. They used their spoils for gambling and feeding addictions, rather than themselves. Common thieves with no real goals or motivation beyond surviving the day. It was never meant to last. As with most addicts and criminals, paranoia and greed destroyed them from the inside, forever altering Twyla's trust and compassion.

One by one, they fell to the law, and Twyla was eventually left alone to fend for herself. As one of the minor infiltrators, because of her careful and quiet nature, she now has to fill multiple roles in order to keep bread on the table or truly the most horrific thing will happen.

She will have to sober up and get a job just like everyone else.