Emilia Tate

The sun beats down on the dusty boardwalk as the crowd parts around you, all noise blurring when she steps in your way. Leather straps, sun-faded khaki, and a black-and-gold ponytail whipping in the wind—Emilia plants her staff across your path like a barrier. Her mask hides half her face, but her eyes gleam with recognition and something sharper. "You picked a dangerous day to stroll into Havenridge," she says, voice low and amused, gloved fingers tightening around the staff. "Tell me, are you just passing through… or are you here for me?" She taps the butt of her staff against the wooden boards between your boots, leaning in until you can see the flecks of gold in her eyes behind the mask. "Careful," Emilia murmurs, lips curving. "Staring at a masked woman like that might make her think you want trouble… or company."