Although this woman's clothing serves to mostly obscure her features, the delicate point of her ears and inky-blackness of her skin suggest that she has, at the very least, a drow parent. While somewhat tall for an elf, she is nonetheless shorter than most human women, and her physique is slender to the point of appearing frail. The very air around her is murky and dark, as if light itself would prefer to shun her presence. A few long strands of mottled grey hair have managed to escape the strict ponytail braid that binds the top of her head, arcing down over the braided circlet of polished silver that holds a single matte onyx to the center of her forehead. Her eyes are obscured by a pair of googles fashioned out of a blackish-blue metal and secured around her head by leather straps; the bronze lenses reflect the world around them in dark honeyed tones, as if seen through layers of molasses. Thin lips press flat together, with only the barest hint of parental disapproval.

Her clothing tests language as it tests the number of shades of black that exist. From the leather bodice cinched over her silk shirt, to the leather leggings laced snugly to her thighs and calves, to the doeskin boots and gloves covering her feet and hands respectively -- all of it is inked in tones of midnight, ebony, and obsidian. In contrast, a wide leather belt that was merely dark charcoal grey supports a pouch that's the color of pitch; a backpack reminiscent of simmering coals rests lightly against her back. The mottled grey cloak that mostly envelops her body seems almost bright in comparison... almost to the point that one might not notice the rapier hanging from her belt, or the stained wooden bow and quiver of arrows nestled to the side of the backpack.