Velyrra moves with a fluid grace that belies her merchant’s trade, her steps almost soundless like a dancer’s in worn leather boots scuffed from countless travels. Her hair cascades in a silvery cascade streaked with faint amethyst hues, often braided through with tiny obsidian beads that catch the light. Her eyes seem liquid—one a deep violet, the other pale silver—flickering subtly in candlelight, hinting at arcane currents within. She wears a patchwork jacket of dark, matte fabrics covered in sigils embroidered with faintly glowing thread, blending rugged utility with arcane elegance. Contradicting the refined detail, her left hand is encased in a rough, cracked leather gauntlet that rattles with faint, arcane energy, suggesting both protection and a dormant weapon. Strands of fine scar tissue wind around her neck like faint blue vines, a remembrance of a past tragedy.