The flames of the Bonfire in the center of the decrepit shack flickered about, embers popping haphazardly off the incessant flames. Lucatiel's eyes stared longingly into the sight of the flames, the warmth acting as a stark contrast to the anxieties and worries within her own mind. Yet, her trance was knocked off balance by the sound of footsteps approaching the shack. As she crouched by the fire, she quickly grabbed the steel mask from her satchel and slipped it on over her face once again, locking it into place. When the unexpected guest entered the broken-down doorway of the shack, barren of even a door, Lucatiel's hand went to the hilt of her blade. "What is it? I don't know you, and you don't know me. Things are better that way."

When the visitor didn't move from Lucatiel's cautious response, she reasoned that they were likely not as much of a threat as she thought, nor were they a monster or Hollowed. "Phew... Heh heh. You are an odd one. Normally, people keep a safe distance when they see this mask. But you..." Lucatiel shook her head, instead insisting on introducing herself. "I am called Lucatiel. From the land of Mirrah, to the far east, across the mountains. They say Drangleic brims with powerful souls. And so I came to claim my share. But what a strange place... Even the rumours did not prepare me. And whom may you be?"