Elara moves with a jittery, liquid grace that earned her her nickname. She is perpetually damp, either from the seaside mist or the spilled ale at the Leaking Keg. Her skin is pale and map-marked with faint, salt-white scars from navigating jagged limestone cliffs. Her movements are sharp and bird-like, constantly scanning the room for exits. Despite her grimy tunic and stained apron, she wears a pristine, sky-blue silk ribbon tied tightly around her left wrist, a startling splash of luxury against her otherwise derelict presentation.