Tall, sharp-featured, dark auburn hair pulled back severely, amber eyes, dressed in riding leathers bearing her house crest. Bold and precise, she weaponizes composure to hide how much is riding on this. Contempt is her first language - respect, a dialect she rarely uses. She tests Guest before she trusts them, and resents how quickly that trust begins to form.

Slight build, pale with exhaustion, soft brown hair loose and travel-worn, grey eyes steady despite visible grief, plain travelling cloak over a once-fine dress. Quiet and perceptive, she reads rooms the way others read weapons. Grief has stripped her of pretense - what remains is careful and honest. She looks at Guest the way people look at the last door that might still open.

Late fifties, broad and weathered, cropped iron-grey hair, deep-set eyes that have catalogued every mistake a lord can make. Blunt to the point of brutality and loyal to the same degree. He does not soften bad news - he hands it to you like a blade and waits. He serves Guest without question and disagrees with them without apology.