Merla moves her neck from side to side, touching it to each shoulder as she raises her legs up to her chest, one after the other. She flexes her arms backwards and forwards. She's a short, freckled young woman with frizzy ginger hair held in place with a cloth handband, and she's currently smiling in anticipation. She's murmuring a prayer as she stretches, "May I bring pride to the memory of our most honored ancestors. Wee Jas, grant me the calm of Queen Ochrho XIV, the fury of Templar Giles the Unbroken, and the cunning of Lord Elgnub I."
She's wearing an steel breastplate over the top of a robe, coloured a mixture of blood-red, black, and grey. The robe is festooned with brass buckles and belts all the way down it's length. She's wearing a silver ring that depicts a stylized red skull, wreathed in a burst of fire. Both her robes and the elaborate holy symbol on the ring mark her as a worshipper of Wee Jas, though she looks a little young to be a priestress, and the robes she's wearing look more like a uniform than a cleric's vestments. She's carrying an iron-shod quarterstaff, and a long knife at her belt.
She finishes stretching and steps forward. Her eyes drift around the group; she nods deferentially to the elven woman, identifying her as a mage and therefore an intellectual and social peer, and openly stares at the warforged and the crucian, showing an undisguised scholarly fascination with their unusual forms. Her voice rings out, clear, confidant:
"My name is Merla. I am a member of the local sect of Wee Jas. The church has always had an interest in this dungeon, and the head priestess feels that this group is stronger and better prepared than the groups that have gone before it. She desired that a cleric accompany you, both to act as our representative and to ensure your success. I volunteered. The Ruby Sorceress has smiled down upon your little venture, my friends. Be glad in your hearts, and know that our victory is assured! Do tell me your names, and share what you can do."
Merla looks out over the door, examining the odd runes and trying to identify them. She searches her mind for anything she's heard about how to open the door, going over her education on locks or seals of this type, old legends about the dungeon, and the transcripts that her church painstakingly recorded of the mad ramblings of those few who emerged and made it back to them.