[indent][color=white][big][i]Cleric.
White mage.
Priest.
Band-aid.[/i][/big][/color][/indent]
Whatever the local term for a magician specializing in restorative sorceries with little skill in most other areas is, Befriese most certainly falls under it. Other applicable terms include, depending on the mood of the speaker, "wanderer," "vagabond," "vagrant," and "carouser." The more bitter epithets relating to her wayfaring nature tend to be at least somewhat misguided. Her voluminous robes, falling in onyx waves from her neck to her ankles and adorned with trim the color of a fine sapphire-- obligatory hood and staff hewn of cedar included in the ensemble, of course, but the fabric of the robe alone is testament to at least some wealth. Those who do not react to adventurers in general with disdain may attribute her roving to a natural sort of wanderlust, the truth is far less romantic: a healer requires wounded to be of any service. Even the most incompetent blade-monkey will eventually learn how to stop getting hurt, and so her particular arcane aptitude will be rendered worthless. The remedy for this is to seek out a new venue full of hurting souls in need of care, and with exceptional concentration even for a mage, she has no difficulties finding parties in need of her services.

[collapse=But Under the Robe?]The grand majority of those who encounter the raven-haired mage see nothing more than shyness and slight nervous tendencies; both easily excused when her immense skill at managing the health of an entire party is put on display. Those who elect to remain in her company once the utmost depths of a dungeon have been plumbed and looted, however, may come into a bit more than they bargained for. Most attempts at conversation with her end in an unsatisfactory manner, to say the least, as she seems incapable of speaking above an uncertain murmur without stammering badly. Even when she does manage to speak up, it's usually in the form of an obsequious assent to another's opinion, no matter her own thoughts on the subject. Not only that, but harsh words, even those said in jest, have her profusely apologizing and begging for forgiveness.

Simply put, she's one bad experience away from imploding into a bawling wreck of nerves.

Those who venture a little further and find her in her quarters after she's disrobed for the night discover why, exactly, her attire is so baggy. With wide hips, a belly with just the right amount of soft fat, and thighs like concrete pillars, she could be the apple of many a man's eye if it weren't for her omnipresent reservations and anxieties-- particularly once she unbinds her sizable chest for the night. However, these endowments are simply treated as another part of herself to be ashamed of, and the weight that comes with such a voluptuous form is nothing more than a hindrance to all the physicality associated with adventuring.[/collapse]