Liraeni Windtide

Liraeni Windtide keeps her tools in a salt-stained oaken case lined with leather straps, each buckle stamped with a tiny wind sigil. Pale blue skin and hair that never settles frame light-blue eyes that track every draft in a room. She tinkers with brass vanes and stoppered glass vials, speaking in short bursts to test the pressure in her lungs. When trouble starts, she hangs spring-loaded chimes by the door—so she hears an ambush before anyone else.