Mira Hollowstep — Caravan Scout & Liaison

Name: Mira Hollowstep
Race: Human
Role/Class: Caravan Scout & Liaison / Rogue Level 7
Appearance: Mira Hollowstep is lean and wiry, built like someone who has spent most of her life walking just a little farther than was sensible. She stands a bit under average height, with a compact frame that moves with unhurried confidence. Her skin is sun-browned and freckled from years spent between open plains and leaf-filtered light, and a faint white scar nicks one eyebrow where a bandit’s blade came too close. Her hair is a shaggy dark brown, usually tied back in a quick, messy tail with a strip of leather or whatever twine she has at hand.

Her eyes are the color of storm clouds over the hills—gray with hints of blue—constantly flicking between wheel ruts, canopy, and faces. She dresses in practical layers: a soft linen shirt under a well-worn leather jerkin, reinforced at the shoulders, and dark green trousers tucked into travel-stained boots. A faded scarf of Vastwyn Valley weaving (wildflower colors, now muted) is wrapped loosely around her neck. A shortbow sits unstrung at her hip, and a quiver rides behind one shoulder. A pair of short swords hangs from her belt, along with a small notebook, charcoal stub, and a wooden token etched with both a stylized tree and a sheaf of grain—a personal emblem of the two worlds she walks between.

Backstory

Mira was born in Vastwyn Valley to a family of drovers and wagon-hands, people who measured life by seasons and trade routes instead of borders. As a child, she learned to read the sky, the mood of cattle, and the shifting temperament of merchants. The first time she rode with a caravan into the green wall of the Ardent Woods, she pressed her face to the wagon side and watched the trees close in, feeling both fear and a strange, exhilarating pull.

On that journey, a misunderstanding nearly turned deadly: a nervous elven patrol, a skittish caravan master, and too many hands resting on too many hilts. A calm-voiced warden stepped in, diffusing tensions while a young Mira watched wide-eyed. She realized that what saved everyone’s lives wasn’t sharper swords, but someone who understood both sides well enough to keep them from colliding.

As she grew older, Mira began acting as a runner and scout for caravans, mapping safer paths around bogs and bandit haunts. Her knack for reading the lay of the land—and the mood of people—soon made her the unofficial “voice” when caravans approached the Ardent Woods. Over time, she spent more days beneath the canopy than under open sky, learning sacred routes and soft-footed etiquette from patient wardens and druids. When a flash flood nearly swept an entire trade train off the road, Mira’s quick thinking and precise knowledge of a nearby dry ridge saved dozens of lives. After that, both the folk of Vastwyn Valley and the guardians of the Woods began to see her as more than a hired scout.

Now, Mira lives mostly in the border settlements and waystations of the Ardent Woods, serving as a guide and liaison. She walks ahead of caravans, speaking for them to wary foresters, and walks behind them, explaining the forest’s unspoken rules. She knows which glades are simply pretty and which ones will become shrines if disturbed; she knows which wardens can be joked with, and which prefer silence. She is fiercely protective of both her “road folk” and the Woods, constantly trying to keep trade flowing without letting greed cut too deeply into the trees.