Harmony
MinorA slender Red woman with a delicate brittle build and prominent bones that speak of a hard life in the mines, her nimble fingers showing poorly maintained nails often caked in dirt or blood. The left half of her face is strikingly beautiful with soft skin pale as milk stretched over fine delicate bones, while the right half is a horrific distorted mass of ragged running scar tissue folded like rivers from a steam burn. Dark eyes glitter with perpetual cold anger and cruel intensity, her mouth set in a hard line that exposes uneven bottom teeth. She wears practical mining vests that can open to reveal bombs strapped to her stomach and keeps sharp knives hidden in her sturdy boots, projecting a constant readiness for violence and an aura of vengeful intensity.
Contains info from Book 5+
Physical Description
A slender Red woman with a delicate brittle build and prominent bones that speak of a hard life in the mines, her nimble fingers showing poorly maintained nails often caked in dirt or blood. The left half of her face is strikingly beautiful with soft skin pale as milk stretched over fine delicate bones, while the right half is a horrific distorted mass of ragged running scar tissue folded like rivers from a steam burn. Dark eyes glitter with perpetual cold anger and cruel intensity, her mouth set in a hard line that exposes uneven bottom teeth. She wears practical mining vests that can open to reveal bombs strapped to her stomach and keeps sharp knives hidden in her sturdy boots, projecting a constant readiness for violence and an aura of vengeful intensity. Harmony's face is a stark divide: one half blasted by a terrible scar, the other cold and cruel with hard eyes that occasionally soften. Older and hardened, she bears a fluid, strong metal arm fitted with blackmarket weapon sockets. Her presence is menacing and resilient, a fusion of flesh and machine that commands wary respect. A middle-aged woman of fair complexion with a face split between the faded beauty of her youth and a horrible scar staining half of it vivid green from the fatal gunfire of her past. Sour crow's feet and etched lines frame eyes that can suddenly blaze with incandescent loveliness, transforming her entire expression. She carries the weary, slumped shoulders and lazy stalking gait of a veteran soldier, moving with careless forward momentum and a hand often resting near her pistol.