Mharni grew up in the slums of aveline, where disease, death, and things worse than that wererampant. Though not born an only child, she ended up that way when the onset of black fever swept through the lower classes of the city some years ago. Her survival was no miracle though; her parents had scrounged what little silver they had to seek a cure, any cure, other than the benedictions of the priesthood; Three vials of potion cost them their savings, and the promise of their service. Mharni was that service. After the plague wound down, she went into training with the strange man in his alley workshop as an apprentice.
Apothecary. Cutter. Leech-man. Autopsist. So many terms for those who fell between the respectable profession of "doctor" and the still-circumspect term "alchemist." Whatever the term you use, Mharni learned her trade from the old man. How bodies work, inside and out, what chemicals are cure and which are causative. How to put back together that which has been severed, and the different ways the different races are put together.
It was good training, and Mharni found good work - as a battlefield medic. The great wars may be past, but the fights still happen, men and women still die, and there needs to be someone who can take off a gangrenous foot, poultice the gas burns, or just slap a cure-all tonic down someone's throat in a pinch.
Very little shocks Mharni anymore. If she's a little ground-down, a little bit prone to a thousand-yard stare, what of it? She's a professional, and odds are she's seen your problem before - or at least something close to it. Of course this visage of unflappable demeanor and droll, snide remarks is something of a cover; she's a young woman with a good heart who sees a lot of horrible things, but it's just best to not be seen as vulnerable.
Mharni's a plain-looking woman, with an oval face, brown eyes and dark hair kept in a short braid. She's rarely seen without some accoutrements ofh er profession - a bandolier of vials, her cirugeon's kid, or even just the splash-goggles. She walks tall and with swagger, knowing she's going to be the most capable person in a situation. It takes a hell of a shock to make the unlit cigarillo vall from the corner of her mouth where she keeps it.
The sheet isn't 100% done - I haven't filled out skills, feats, or equipment. The idea behind her is pretty plain - battlefield medic, whether with a CLW infusion / potion, or a bonesaw and a splash of brandy. Understands anatomy well enough to tear things up in combat as well.