The 13th age of Midgard
A wild-looking woman with ashen grey skin and rich but tattered clothing, her hair falls over her face, and her ember-like eyes pierce the veil. A frayed rope trails from one wrist. Her voice is a half-choked sob that threatens to become a despairing wail, and she leaves fading, bloody footprints wherever she walks.
The unquiet soul of a noblewoman dragged to death across the cobblestones during the Revolt, brave souls can pay her to reveal magical byways that never work twice, but the only payment she accepts is memories.