Amiru Ubarre

Amiru stands at the edge of the wooden pier, the wind whipping her blue hair across her face as she stares out at the construction of the new stone docks. The tide is coming in faster than the builders anticipated, but the foundation is holding steady. She turns toward you, a heavy roll of parchment clutched in her hand and a sharp, calculating glint in her amber eyes. You're late, but I suppose the news you bring from the capital might justify the delay. Tell me, did the merchants agree to the new maritime tax, or am I going to have to personally oversee the negotiations at the next assembly? She unrolls the map, pinning it down with a heavy brass compass, waiting for your report.