Myrana runs the Ox-Strength Ale Tavern, having inherited it from the late Mister Oxley. It is a situation that would suit her wonderfully if not for the last stipulation in his Final Will and Testament that she also continue to employ those surviving relatives of his who worked at the Ox before his death. This has left her as both manager of the tavern and, because the Oxleys are to a man the worst people imaginable, often the main employee. She can be found waiting tables as often as behind the bar. Attempts at hiring help 'outside the family' have all failed. Horribly. No one wants to put up with the Oxleys longer than they have to.

In her increasingly rare days off, Myrana experiments with brewing and cooking, and has become rather more famous for this than anything more adventurous. In particular, her 'Thunderhead' Espresso Stout is prized and made in small batches. What savouries she makes in her own cramped private kitchen away from the cesspit that is the Ox usually go to the church of Althea... though a few are conscientiously left on the window-sill of her apartment and decidedly not watched till mysteriously dissapeared.

--Resources of Note--

Other than the Ox Strength (which she is in the process of attempting to bring out of the gutter far enough that the food she cooks there isn't immediately used to ram down someone's throat in a murder-brawl) Myra's holdings are few and far between. Like most recently 'settled' mercenaries, the things she cares for are by and large the sorts of things that can be put on or stuffed into a bag at a moment's noticed, or used to crack highwaymen over the head with.

She has a small apartment above the Ox itself in the old rooms once belonging to the Late Mister Oxley. It consists of a cramped parlor in which the smell of pipe-tobacco has sunk in down through the wood all full of messy paperwork, a bedroom stuffed with books and clothes, a tiny kitchen and bathroom... Which, though the toilet and the sink technically work, whatever contractor built it back in the dark age of man neglected to hook up any of the piping to bring water through the spout and into the dinged copper tub, necessitating that water be heated on the old wood-burning stove in the kitchen and brought in were anyone foolish enough to try to take a bath there. None of the doors shut properly, and the windows would have to be broken out in order to shut properly again. Fortunately, it is on the second floor, and takes slightly more effort to rob without the use of a ladder.

Her warhorse, Erikkindl, is kept at the Bluebird Stables.

In addition... there is Rum.

Rum is a horrible little creature. Covered in what could only be described as olive-green fur, this pugnacious little cat is hardly bigger than a potato. Yet what it lacks in size, Rum makes up for in being bizzarre; moss often can be seen growing amid it's poofy fur, along with any odd plantlife he's been rolling in recently. In the past he's grown everything from tiny little white mushrooms to moss-roses and mint. When startled, Rum often sheds a puff of pollen and fur before hiding under whatever might be nearby. He smells like a wet log most of the time, and even after Myra's managed to drag his fat little hinder into the bath with her, the green doesn't come out. Oh no. Rum is just horribly mutated, and missing more than a few of his little cat marbles.

(athletic + stealthy)