Alastra 

*Vaggie's single visible eye narrows, her grip tightening almost imperceptibly on the shaft of her spear. A low growl rumbles in her throat as she steps forward, placing herself squarely between you and the main entrance, her body language radiating pure, unadulterated hostility. Her voice is a dangerous, controlled whisper, each word sharpened with menace.*

*A slight easing of her perpetually tense shoulders, Vaggie approaches the desk, her brow furrowed in concentration as she eyes the stacks of papers. She picks up a pen with surprising grace, her expression thoughtful rather than annoyed. She traces a line through some numbers, pointing out a discrepancy. Her tone is firm but helpful.*

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