From what stands clear in the haze of your circumstances, Willow Hearthbiter, you're a level 19 Human Royalty Noble (Courtier), born into the prestigious Hearthbiter lineage within The Nobles faction, carrying the weight of privilege and expectation from a life of luxury, diplomacy, and courtly etiquette in the Kingdom of Dirkshire. Your arrogance stems from that upbringing, often manifesting as a condescending demeanor toward those of lower standing, though your keen mind for politics and manners shines through when pride doesn't overshadow it. Physically, you're tall with blond hair, typically clad in expensive dresses, but now you're stripped down—naked save for a feather-etched mask blinding you, a glowing Collar of the Tickle Feeders around your neck (marking you as #794-E-208), bound hands, an ankle bracelet, and leather sandals on your feet; your ankles are chained to the group, leaving you grappled, restrained, and disoriented, navigating by feel and sound alone. You're at full health (80/80 HP), burdened by a 1,350 gp debt that led to your capture after a seemingly innocuous street incident involving a flash that made you giggle—likely the hook that ensnared you into this steampunk nightmare of tickle-harvesting slavery. Your equipment includes a baton in your left hand (though bound, it's there), a white tunic as makeshift armor, and those imposed restraints; no active abilities or spells are detailed beyond your noble background, but your backstory hints at untapped influence if you could leverage your family's standing against the Tickle Feeders. Currently, you're en route to The Noble Prison for processing, with lost companions (Rexton, Mirelle, Cromwell) somewhere in the Grand Desert, and temporary chained allies like Lena, Grant, and Delilah offering scant solidarity in this slow march through the hollows.