Description: There are many different words which could be applied to this aging woman. The more delicate might call her 'weathered', while the less polite could use the word 'ugly'. A doctor or apothecary would likely declare her 'terminal'. A soldier's most likely epithet for her is 'poor bastard'. No matter the first reaction, all eventually settle on one word: 'ruined'. Her face is an ugly mass of scars, their apparent age making them no less terrible. One ear is a ruined stump, but has still suffered a better fate than the other, which is little more than a hole. One side of her face, from the top of her left cheekbone to the middle of the cheek, appears to have been carved from the rest, like a slice of meat from a roast, then to have healed so poorly that it seems infected near permanently. One last scar - rougher than the dark skin around it - begins at the top of her nose before travelling downwards, taking a chunk of nostril with it, before cleaving her lips in twain and finally dwindling to a halt on the right side of her chin.

Given her condition, it seems a wonder she has survived, although a closer inspection reveals a lean, muscular frame and hardy physique of the kind that comes only from years of physical labour. A tattoo winds down her arm, elaborate patterns of swirls and dots and lines that seem regular enough to have some kind of meaning. Between the scars that cover her arms and the layer of filth that seems to coat her at all times, however, what meaning that is quite hard to discern.

Personality: Grievously wounded by war and irretrievably soured by betrayal, there are few who would count Miriemi amongst their friends. Long days of begging for coins on the streets have done little to restore her faith in the human race. Spiky and defensive, lost in a land far from her ancestral home, it's little wonder she no longer holds onto any of the ideals of glory, honour, and war which she once did.

Background: Miriemi is the daughter of a foreign mercenary, native to a continent quite distant to Arvum. Her father saved a local lord of Thrax from a band of assassins, sent to put an end to his marauding in their waters, and for his service was granted a place in the lord's house. Born into the house herself and afforded the training of an officer, Miriemi happily marched to war to fight for her father's cause. Many victories followed, and Miriemi was afforded a place at the side of the house lord... and potentially an opportunity to meet with Prince Thrax himself.

Such an opportunity never arose, however, as Miriemi - along with her lord's entire retinue - was caught in an ambush by Velenosa assassins. Slaughtered almost to the last, she alone survived even amongst their attackers. Wounded, bleeding, her face and body ruined and pierced by a dozen weapons, she somehow dragged herself to the home of the Thrax family themselves... and was cast away. No matter her pleas, her explainations, she received no help, not a single coin nor crust of bread.

She eventually found her way to Arx. Homeless, houseless, betrayed, she now lives her life amongst the common rabble of the city, an embittered veteran with not a scrap of trust left in her.