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Lise doesn't remember a time when she was completely safe. Her village was lost to thralldom when she was a young child, her parents sending her off with a traveling shaman in hopes she would escape the same fate. She grew up bouncing from village to village, constantly dodging the dangers of the road, the constant conflict with the Pantheon, the threat of thralldom. As a traveling healer and priest, Lise became familiar with the many ways death visits Arx. Every turn toward safety has quickly dissolved from Lise's fingers. She's never been settled in a place for more than a few months, and each time it has ended in tragedy of one sort of another. She's used to things turning bad, quickly and irrevocably. But Lise is a talented priestess, well versed in the names of the spirits. She's a healer and apothecary of great skill.

Lise doesn't look like she knows how to smile. There is something set about her stony expression, carved deep into her features. Not so much a frown as a face of intense study. Someday, the lines will burn their way into her skin, but not yet. At least, none can be seen. Perhaps it's the habit of smearing her face with charcoal or colorful pastes mixed by her own hand that hides them. Or maybe the untamed mess of tangled red hair. Whatever it is, Lise looks like she doesn't like anyone.

Not so much cold, Lise is cynical. She has a sense of humor cultivated by years of danger and stress, marked by nothing so much as a nonchalance about danger. She's full of a hard-edged snark. It doesn't help that the girl cares little who she offends. Not that she looks for people to anger, but it seems to happen as often as not.