Sarel is a wandering witch who fled persecution in her homeland. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but she barely escaped being burned alive at the stake. The villagers she’d known her whole life turned against her on the sole basis of prejudice and negative stereotypes after a spate of misfortune in the area. Unrelated, she doesn’t see why some people get so upset when a handful of children go missing.
Currently she’s looking to travel with a group of tolerant and understanding adventurers for her own safety, especially if they’re headed somewhere that valuable and powerful magic might be kept. She is a mere custodian of the esoteric arts interested in documenting and protecting magical artifacts wherever they may be, and ensuring the most dangerous items are delivered into safe hands.
It’s really no one’s business if she considers her own hands to be safest the majority of the time. Who do those critics think they are, the magic police? Hold on, maybe they have a point, give her a moment to confer with her pocket-sized copy of Ye Olde Dicta of Magicks.
Here we go, statutes in the case of found items, article 1A: Get Fucked.