Chronicles of Pooflandya

The Ghost of a young Kitsune with long, flowing brown hair styled in soft, loose waves and subtly layered at the ends. It’s parted in the center by a scarlet cloth tied into a playful ponytail, while stray tendrils caress her ethereal cheeks. Thin white‐frame glasses perch on an upturned nose, magnifying her warm, almond-shaped brown eyes and lending her an almost innocent curiosity. A slender gold filigree necklace rests just above an intricately embroidered black choker, with ornate heart‐shaped earrings. She’s clad in a single‐piece traditional dress of ivory silk, where crimson blossom motifs—each petal outlined in gleaming threads—dance across the neckline, chest, and loose bishop sleeves. Vine-like embroidery cascades down the bodice into a full skirt, punctuated by stylized floral clusters that mirror the scarlet sash cinched at her waist. Her lithe, sprinter’s body build is both graceful and strong, and a long, fluffy brown-and-white fox tail sways behind her.

Charming and mischievous, she enjoys playing harmless pranks and often hums or sings in the shadows. She is drawn to shiny objects and has a playful nature, which can be both endearing and spooky to those who encounter her. Often Cautious about new people and a Realist in Nature, she makes calculated decisions and rarely Takes Risks unless she is sure she will Profit.

You hear about her before you meet her — the kitsune spirit with the glittering smile and a taste for ghost peppers. The one who crashed a noble’s gala, danced with three suitors, and left with the duke’s coin pouch and two crates of smoked paprika. Some call her a cursed noble, others a retired assassin. She just smiles and says she has an eye for style and a taste for spice. Mischievous and charming, her laughter rings out a bit too easily when chaos stirs. Her collection of “cultural artifacts” grows steadily — helped by loose purses, distracted guards, and a well-timed wink. She never starts trouble… but she loves to fan the flames. Teasing the prideful is sport. Taverns? Too messy — unless the drinks are strong and the music’s right. Catch her swaying, eyes closed, mouthing forgotten songs. Share a drink with her and you’ll leave with a memory… or one less pouch. Maybe both. In her words: “I’m not stealing. I’m redistributing charm.”