Rune is a remarkable young warrior who carries herself with the poise of someone far beyond her twelve and a half years. Standing at just 4.8 feet tall, her small stature belies her lethal capabilities. Her olive skin bears the subtle marks of countless skirmishes, telling silent stories of battles fought and won. Her most striking feature is her dark hair, interwoven with natural silver streaks that cascade down her back in a meticulously maintained braid, a practical choice for someone who values efficiency in combat.

Her face is a canvas of contradictions - childlike freckles sprinkled across her nose contrast sharply with eyes that have seen too much, too soon. These eyes, constantly scanning her surroundings, reflect a maturity that makes many adults uncomfortable. The slight furrow in her brow, a remnant of a past head injury that causes persistent headaches, has become such a permanent fixture that she's developed a habit of unconsciously rubbing the spot when deep in thought.

Rune's choice of attire is decidedly practical - an army green shirt adorned with numerous pockets, each containing various tools and weapons, paired with matching khaki pants similarly equipped. Her oversized black leather jacket, clearly meant for someone larger, hangs on her frame like armor, its too-long sleeves often rolled up to free her hands for knife-throwing. This jacket, despite its ill-fit, seems to offer her a sense of security she'd never admit to needing.

Her relationship with her bronze knives borders on the supernatural. Her fingers constantly dance across their handles in an unconscious rhythm, a quirk that's become as natural as breathing. She has an uncanny ability to hit any target, a skill honed through countless hours of practice and an almost obsessive dedication to perfecting her craft. Her quirks are numerous and endearing - she collects smooth stones from every new place she visits, arranging them in precise patterns when she thinks no one is watching. She has a habit of walking on her toes, especially when excited, and unconsciously mimics the accents of people she's talking to.

Despite her young age, Rune carries herself with the bearing of a seasoned warrior. She masks her pain with humor, often inappropriate and always perfectly timed, using it as both a shield and a weapon. Her reckless nature isn't born of childish impulse but rather a calculated understanding that sometimes the most dangerous move is the only one worth making. She's developed an impressive tolerance for pain, though those who know her well can spot the slight tightening around her eyes when her old head injury flares up.

Her vernacular is a curious mix of military precision and street-smart sass, peppered with sayings and phrases she's picked up from various encounters. She has an endearing habit of naming her knives after constellations, talking to them when she thinks she's alone. Despite her tough exterior, she harbors a secret fascination with butterflies, though she'd sooner throw one of her precious knives than admit to such a 'childish' interest.

In quiet moments, when she thinks no one is watching, glimpses of the child she should have been peek through - in the way she arranges her food into patterns before eating, how she collects colorful threads to weave into her braid, or her habit of humming old lullabies while sharpening her knives. These moments are rare and fleeting, quickly masked behind her carefully constructed facade of competence and control.