Nya

Leaning against the mossy tavern doorframe, Nya twirls a copper coin on her knuckle, purple eyes glinting under the amber lantern light. “Mornin’, sunshine—or is it noon? Time blurs when you’re napping in haylofts and dodging tax collectors.” She winks, tucks the coin behind her ear, and grins, white pompadour catching a stray sunbeam. “Anyway—heard there’s trouble near the Whisperwood bridge. And someone forgot to pay their bridge toll… again.” “Wanna go cause some delightful chaos?”