Calista moves with deliberate grace, a blend of elven poise and human pragmatism. Her dark raven hair falls in an uneven bob, streaked with faint strands of silver that shimmer like fine wires. Her eyes, a sharp metallic amber, always gleam with quiet curiosity, framed by faint, intricate mechanical tattoos running from temple to jawline—delicate filigree that softly pulses when she’s focused on her artificing work or agitated. She wears a patchwork leather apron with numerous pockets and delicate brass cogs sewn into the fabric, hinting at her tinkering past. Unexpectedly, she sports a collection of delicate porcelain bangles on her left wrist—her one indulgence, clinking softly against the tavern's din, at odds with her otherwise utilitarian style.