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There is no telling at all what is true and what is false when it comes to rumours about the woman known to most as 'Auntie' Livye. She has been born of a traveling Knight and a local common woman, of a courtesan and a high-born Prince, of two Nobles caught in a scandalous affair and of countless others. All true and all false, if one were to wonder it aloud within her earshot; with some of the stories even circulated by her in her own youth, no doubt as amusing tales to feed burgeoning interest in her formerly famed beauty. And beautiful she certainly was, even if it was without the proper temperament to parlay her looks into an escape from the Lower Boroughs and their hardships. Time went on, as it must, as did husbands, companions and children - some now healthy and grown and others having known the early call of the grave - the number of which no one but her surely knows. The Asp, as she affectionately calls it, is her one true love and her own little kingdom, from where she conducts her business and fiercely protects her Ulbran flock.

Striking is certainly a word which would have been used, some years ago, to describe this woman. But the twin tragedies of time and hard living march incessantly on, and her once supple, vibrant bronze skin has begun to grow rough and tired in places, with noticeable lines now tugging at the corners of her lips and eyes. Tall and long of limb, full of wiry strength, self-assured grace and a full head of lush umber hair whose reddish undertones now grow peppered with grey, she would have cut an eye-turning figure in her youth. But all that now remains from those days is the light in her eyes, a bright champagne-like tint, centered by a dark golden circle around the iris.

Bustling, boisterous and loud-mouthed to a fault, the proprietess of the Two-Headed Asp runs one of the most popular inns in the Lower Boroughs with a rogueish smile and an iron fist. While no stranger to the occasional bit of fisticuffs herself, in her youth, she suffers little foolishness upon her own premises and those who cannot enjoy their food and drink without showing hands are given a swift exit from the commons into the horses' through out front, courtesy of one or another of her elder twin sons (however one manages to tell them apart). For all of her unyielding disposition; however, she has been known to display a touch of a motherly streak from time to time, albeit one reserved exclusively for those unfortunates born in the slums and likely to die there.