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Paloma was born to the Thornburns, daughter to Greer's older sister. Not a crafter, although most Thornburns are. Her mother made bread, Paloma had a way of mingling dust into the flour. She wasn't clumsy, just bored. Her dreams were acted out with sticks and back lots. She killed a thousand imagined foes by the time she was ten. When she was old enough, she joined the Knights of Solace. While not deeply religious, she was drawn to the opportunity to travel, to face enemies that might be closer to the legends in her head than criminals and scuffling crafters. In practice, there are a lot of dull days anywhere, but Paloma served with hunger and distinction and a little brutality, and, honestly, her patrols tended to have an unusual amount of things go wrong, which livened those days up. Had a few instances where her initiative and the swiftness of her sword arm proved decisive on the road. She had a lover in the King's Own. One spent in the Teind. Paloma understands we're all spent one day. She didn't grieve her, not much. She only aspired the more toward the King's Own, because if one is to be spent, one ought to be spent in the best possible way. And the sudden disappearance of so many Knights in the Lower Boroughs, an action she only wasn't part of because she'd had a particularly bad row with a Bringer the day before, intensified her need to excel. To decide where she'd be spent. She fought in battles, certainly and well, but she was everywhere. As the peril rose, and corrupted shavs and Bringers broke through, she sometimes found herself in odd places, nearly alone, unluckily alone, arranging civilians with makeshift weapons, pitchforks, stones, leather-wrapped shards of glass. Anything to hold this street, hold this sewer, hold this spot. She had made no secret of her desires. Not to her lover, not to any King's Own of her acquaintance. After the siege ended, she had her position.

Paloma is all lean frame and ready posture, her eyes a flashing gray, always stormy, always a touch over-intense, even when intensity is warranted. Her hair is cropped very short, nearly shaved and her skin has a weathered appearance. A broken canine, gone jagged, gives her rare smile a slightly uneasy, uneven sheen.

Cold, ravenously driven, and ruthless, Paloma's dreams have always lent themselves to violence and sacrifice. But violence and sacrifice toward a greater end. A noble end. The nobler, the better. She's a woman of abstracts who sees most people, including herself, as means, currency to be spent. Small things that can accumulate toward great things, but you can't be too precious about any given silver. She still wants to be the most valuable piece of silver she can be, and that's the King's Own. The only thing that lightens her is that she can apply this chilly resolve to even little things, baking bread, light patrol, a given conversation, and she's clearly doing it to amuse herself and those around her. Playing the part even when it's unnecessary, infusing it with a little wit.