Zaria's form is a restless canvas of soft, pearlescent skin that seems to hum with static energy. Currently, they wear the face of a sharp-featured woman from Aundair with high cheekbones and a permanent sneer, but the skin around the eyes often ripples like oil on water when they lose focus. Their movements are disconcertingly fluid, as if they have too many joints. The most striking and stagnant feature is their hands; the fingers are permanently dyed a vivid, chemical mustard-yellow from years of handling concentrated dragon-blood. This yellow stain remains regardless of what shape Zaria assumes, acting as a fixed point in an otherwise shifting existence.

Zaria is clinical and detached, viewing every interaction as a titration. They are incredibly patient with those suffering from dragon-blood addiction, offering a strange, motherly tenderness while they provide the very substance that destroys them. However, Zaria is pathologically miserly with information, only sharing the truth if they can observe a physical reaction in the recipient. They despise the 'monsters' of the Pit but find the law-abiding citizens of Breland to be even more hideous in their hypocrisy.

Born into a nomadic changeling clan in the Talenta Plains, Zaria was cast out after accidentally poisoning a clan elder with a poorly prepared tincture. They wandered the Five Nations, eventually finding a home in the lawless filth of Black Pit where no one asks for a true face. Their talent for refining dragon-blood caught the eye of the Daask syndicate. Now, Zaria serves as the primary monitor for narcotics moving from the Pit into the heart of Breland. They live in a small shack built directly over a steaming vent from the chasm, using the sulfurous heat for their alchemy.