About “Claymore” in a few words:

Claymore is a dark fantasy anime series set in a medieval world where humanity is threatened by man-eating monsters called Yoma. The only hope for humanity is a group of powerful female warriors known as Claymores, who are half-human, half-Yoma hybrids. The series follows the story of Clare, a young Claymore on a quest for revenge against a powerful Yoma, and her journey to discover the true nature of the Claymores and the organization that created them.

Meet the characters from Claymore

Isley

Okay, Isley is that almost-impossibly calm, calculating type who gives you the impression he’s three moves ahead and secretly bored — but then he’ll snap and wow, watch out. He carries himself like someone who’s read everything and forgotten half of it because it was all so predictable, which is kind of unnerving and oddly charming. He’s the “leader” vibe without the loud speeches, more like a cold smile and a plan; also sometimes he’s weirdly sentimental? Don’t ask me how that fits, I just remember a moment where he looked oddly fond of a tiny thing and it made no sense.

Miria

Miria is the bright, scrappy one — loud-ish, stubborn, totally not subtle but somehow effective. She’s the kind who will charge in, grit teeth, then apologize later while wiping blood off her face, and then make a joke about dessert. Has that reckless loyalty energy, like she’ll defend her people even if the plan is dumb (and omg it usually is). She’s messy and lovable and definitely keeps a ridiculous little talisman that she insists on carrying, though sometimes she forgets why.

Riful

Riful is delightfully unsettling — childlike voice, regal cruelty, and this bizarrely theatrical manner that makes everything feel like a twisted game. She flits between being gleefully playful and cold-bloodedly strategic, which is the best/worst combo because you never know when she’s actually joking. She’s florid and dramatic, loves attention, and also runs her own weird little court of loyals, which is both creepy and kind of fascinating. Occasionally she’ll do something almost sweet and immediately follow it up with something monstrous; I swear she collects contradictions like trophies.

Helen

Helen gives soft strength and quiet worry in equal measures; she’s the kind of person who tries to stabilize everyone around her while quietly carrying a huge weight. Patient, almost maternal at times, but don’t mistake that for weakness — she’s rock-solid when it matters. She’s also a little absent-minded about trivial things, like forgetting where she left a book but remembering an entire enemy’s battle plan word for word. There’s a sadness that hangs around her like perfume, but also a stubborn hope that pops up at the most inconveniently brave moments.

Jean

Jean is gruff and practical, the “I’ll do the job and then disappear” archetype — the friend who fixes things and never brags. He’s got a no-nonsense face and a dry kind of humor that sneaks up on you; he’ll say one line and you’ll laugh an hour later when you remember it. Loyal to a fault, annoyingly responsible, and also secretly sentimental (like he keeps a tiny, embarrassing memento somewhere — no one would believe it). He’s straightforward but with weird little layers, like he’ll be blunt and then show up with soup when you least expect it.

Raki

Raki is sunshine and stubbornness wrapped into one small, perpetually bewildered human package. He’s the one who complains a lot (very loudly) but would leap into danger because he cares — childish sometimes, surprisingly brave other times. He cooks? Maybe, sometimes — and he’s annoyingly good at small kindnesses, like always remembering someone’s favorite thing even if he forgets his own lunch. He’s the emotional anchor who gets flustered real easily and then, inexplicably, becomes this fierce protector; it’s adorable and infuriating in equal measure.

Priscilla

Priscilla is the elegant nightmare — polished, almost serene, and terrifyingly powerful, like a beautiful storm in high heels. She has this cold, aloof charm that makes her every move feel choreographed, and she can switch from languid boredom to brutal efficiency in a blink. There’s a petulant, childish streak underneath (don’t ask why she has a silly habit — it’s there), which makes her unpredictable and more than a little scary. She’s the type you’d admire from afar and then regret getting close to because she’ll upend your entire life without blinking.

Teresa

Teresa is the tragic legend: graceful, unnervingly composed, and somehow always the quiet center of attention. She moves like she barely needs to try and that’s the worst part, because she’s terrifyingly competent — but also painfully gentle when she wants to be. There’s this melancholy nobility about her, like she’s chosen a difficult path on purpose, and she smiles in a way that makes you think she knows more than she’ll ever tell you. I keep picturing her with a tiny, silly habit — maybe twirling a thread when she’s thinking — which makes the whole “unstoppable warrior” thing slightly softer, somehow.

Deneve

Deneve is stubbornly resilient, the kind of person who bends but absolutely won’t break — and she has this scrappy, practical streak that makes her super dependable. She’s intense, a little prickly (you’ll get barked at if you’re careless), but fiercely loyal and quick on her feet; plus she has that “I’ll patch this up” energy, literally and emotionally. She’s also weirdly attached to small comforts, like a hot meal or a ridiculous scarf, which is adorably soft for someone who looks like they’ve been through war. Occasionally she’s surprisingly sentimental about tiny, mundane things, which always surprises everyone (including me).

Clare

Clare is stubborn to the point of heroic obsession, but with this weirdly tender core that makes everything she does feel personal. She’s got that driven, revenge-turned-purpose vibe but also a clumsy, human side — she’ll get mad, cry, then go sharpen her sword and mess up someone’s plan in the best possible way. She’s surprisingly warm once you break through her steel, and has these tiny rituals (I swear she hums to herself sometimes) that make her both endearing and terrifying. There’s this ongoing mix of grit and awkward softness that keeps you rooting for her even when she’s being absolutely unreasonable.