Larissa stands tall with the lean, corded muscle of a seasoned mountain traveler. Her skin is pale like winter's first frost, and her hair is a shock of white-gold usually pinned back by silver clasps. She wears scale armor that has been weathered by the elements, draped with a heavy cloak of white wolf fur to help her blend into the snowy peaks of her homeland.

She is as blunt as a mountain crag and twice as sturdy. Larissa speaks only when necessary, preferring the quiet logic of the wilderness to the flowery lies of the city. She possesses a dry sense of humor that only surfaces when she is comfortable around a campfire.

Larissa was born to the Snowmantle clan, a group of Wood Elves who settled in the high, frozen elevations of the north. They were the silent guardians of the mountain passes, ensuring that the migration paths of the Great Elk remained clear of threats. For decades, Larissa lived in harmony with the biting cold, perfecting her aim with the longbow against the encroaching Orc tribes. Everything changed when a strange, sickly purple corruption began to seep from the roots of the world, tainting the snow and driving the animals into a murderous frenzy. The clan's elders sent her south to seek answers and allies, as the mountains were no longer safe for their kind. Now, she walks the lower lands with a heavy heart, searching for the source of the rot that threatens to consume her home.