Weathered, hawk-like face with the left eye rimmed by a pale puckered scar that stops a hair's breadth from the pupil. Steel-gray hair pulled into a tight, practical bun that slips one stubborn silver strand free when she moves. Her armor is utilitarian: battered half-plate polished to a dull sheen with a Neverwinter Guard crest scarred into the breastplate. She favors a worn leather cloak that smells faintly of pipe smoke and river mud. Her left forearm bears an old tattoo of a curling sewer-map glyph, partly scraped away. She walks like a person used to narrow stone — compact, careful footing, shoulders squared. Unexpected detail: she hums lullabies under her breath when alone, a habit incongruous with her stern presence.