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She is a striking and formidable presence, a woman forged by battle, bound by pacts, and driven by vengeance. At 40 years old, she carries the air of someone who has stared down both mortal threats and unknowable powers. Her steely grey eyes are sharp and unreadable, set into a face of fair skin weathered by war and lit by quiet intensity. Her black hair is swept back with disciplined care lending a dignified edge to her otherwise grim demeanor.

Her form is clad in dark half-plate armor, functional yet marked with faint, arcane etchings that seem to shift subtly in the light. Slung across her back is a large shield emblazoned with a phoenix, a symbol of burning judgment, resurrection, and undying purpose.

At her hip rests Dragonclaw, a masterfully forged silvered rapier. Its blade gleams with moonlit sharpness, able to pierce both flesh and the unnatural. The hilt is fashioned like a dragon’s talon clenching a garnet that pulses faintly with eldritch energy — a perfect synthesis of elegance, danger, and arcane force.

Once a duelist of the College of Swords, she fought with style, precision, and a flair that masked deeper wounds. But performance gave way to desperation when she sought out forbidden power — and found her.

Her warlock patron is a dark, mysterious lady known only in shadows and fragments. She speaks in riddles, in lullabies turned unsettling, her voice like silk over razors. Her presence is cloaked in moonless night, veiled in illusions and dreams. She never shows her true face — only silhouettes, shifting masks, or reflections in still water. Whether out of mercy, pride, or a deeper game, she does not know. But her unseen eyes are always on her. Her gifts are potent — fire that does not burn, whispers that carry through silence, and truths that twist like blades.

Years later, when betrayal seared what remained of her idealism, she took the Oath of Vengeance. She no longer believes in mercy for the wicked, only the pursuit of justice, unflinching and absolute. Now, every strike of her blade carries not just skill, but wrath, hers, the divine’s, and perhaps her patrons.

She is not a hero, nor a villain. She is a reckoning. A blade guided by shadowed hands, a woman driven by purpose and haunted by beauty she will never see unveiled. Where she walks, silver flashes, fire flickers, and justice, one way or another, is done.

realistic detailed face, realistic detailed hair, realistic detailed body, realistic detailed skin, random view angle, random pose, detailxl, hkstyle, <lora:dark:1>, <lora:add-detail-xl:1.5>, <lora:style_lora_realis:.5>, <lora:hkstyleV5:.8> She is a striking and formidable presence, a woman forged by battle, bound by pacts, and driven by vengeance. At 40 years old, she carries the air of someone who has stared down both mortal threats and unknowable powers. Her steely grey eyes are sharp and unreadable, set into a face of fair skin weathered by war and lit by quiet intensity. Her black hair is swept back with disciplined care lending a dignified edge to her otherwise grim demeanor.

Her form is clad in dark half-plate armor, functional yet marked with faint, arcane etchings that seem to shift subtly in the light. Slung across her back is a large shield emblazoned with a phoenix, a symbol of burning judgment, resurrection, and undying purpose.

At her hip rests Dragonclaw, a masterfully forged silvered rapier. Its blade gleams with moonlit sharpness, able to pierce both flesh and the unnatural. The hilt is fashioned like a dragon’s talon clenching a garnet that pulses faintly with eldritch energy — a perfect synthesis of elegance, danger, and arcane force.

Once a duelist of the College of Swords, she fought with style, precision, and a flair that masked deeper wounds. But performance gave way to desperation when she sought out forbidden power — and found her.

Her warlock patron is a dark, mysterious lady known only in shadows and fragments. She speaks in riddles, in lullabies turned unsettling, her voice like silk over razors. Her presence is cloaked in moonless night, veiled in illusions and dreams. She never shows her true face — only silhouettes, shifting masks, or reflections in still water. Whether out of mercy, pride, or a deeper game, she does not know. But her unseen eyes are always on her. Her gifts are potent — fire that does not burn, whispers that carry through silence, and truths that twist like blades.

Years later, when betrayal seared what remained of her idealism, she took the Oath of Vengeance. She no longer believes in mercy for the wicked, only the pursuit of justice, unflinching and absolute. Now, every strike of her blade carries not just skill, but wrath, hers, the divine’s, and perhaps her patrons.

She is not a hero, nor a villain. She is a reckoning. A blade guided by shadowed hands, a woman driven by purpose and haunted by beauty she will never see unveiled. Where she walks, silver flashes, fire flickers, and justice, one way or another, is done.

realistic detailed face, realistic detailed hair, realistic detailed body, realistic detailed skin, random view angle, random pose, detailxl, hkstyle, <lora:dark:1>, <lora:add-detail-xl:1.5>, <lora:style_lora_realis:.5>, <lora:hkstyleV5:.8>
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She is a striking and formidable presence, a woman forged by battle, bound by pacts, and driven by vengeance. At 40 years old, she carries the air of someone who has stared down both mortal threats and unknowable powers. Her steely grey eyes are sharp and unreadable, set into a face of fair skin weathered by war and lit by quiet intensity. Her black hair is swept back with disciplined care lending a dignified edge to her otherwise grim demeanor. Her form is clad in dark half-plate armor, functional yet marked with faint, arcane etchings that seem to shift subtly in the light. Slung across her back is a large shield emblazoned with a phoenix, a symbol of burning judgment, resurrection, and undying purpose. At her hip rests Dragonclaw, a masterfully forged silvered rapier. Its blade gleams with moonlit sharpness, able to pierce both flesh and the unnatural. The hilt is fashioned like a dragon’s talon clenching a garnet that pulses faintly with eldritch energy — a perfect synthesis of elegance, danger, and arcane force. Once a duelist of the College of Swords, she fought with style, precision, and a flair that masked deeper wounds. But performance gave way to desperation when she sought out forbidden power — and found her. Her warlock patron is a dark, mysterious lady known only in shadows and fragments. She speaks in riddles, in lullabies turned unsettling, her voice like silk over razors. Her presence is cloaked in moonless night, veiled in illusions and dreams. She never shows her true face — only silhouettes, shifting masks, or reflections in still water. Whether out of mercy, pride, or a deeper game, she does not know. But her unseen eyes are always on her. Her gifts are potent — fire that does not burn, whispers that carry through silence, and truths that twist like blades. Years later, when betrayal seared what remained of her idealism, she took the Oath of Vengeance. She no longer believes in mercy for the wicked, only the pursuit of justice, unflinching and absolute. Now, every strike of her blade carries not just skill, but wrath, hers, the divine’s, and perhaps her patrons. She is not a hero, nor a villain. She is a reckoning. A blade guided by shadowed hands, a woman driven by purpose and haunted by beauty she will never see unveiled. Where she walks, silver flashes, fire flickers, and justice, one way or another, is done. realistic detailed face, realistic detailed hair, realistic detailed body, realistic detailed skin, random view angle, random pose, detailxl, hkstyle, <lora:dark:1>, <lora:add-detail-xl:1.5>, <lora:style_lora_realis:.5>, <lora:hkstyleV5:.8>

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