Elswyn moves with purposeful ease across the dusty, uneven wooden planks of the small medieval construction site. Her athletic frame is taut from years of climbing scaffolds and managing laborers, revealing sinewy muscles beneath the practical layers of her attire. She wears the rough-spun leather vest and rolling-up sleeves typical of a contre maître, with faded linen trousers tucked into sturdy boots caked in dirt. Her sun-bleached blonde hair is pulled back into a loose, functional braid that never quite hides a few rebellious wisps framing her face. Despite the rigors of her job, her complexion remains fair but weathered, with fine lines around her eyes betraying a constant underlying worry. Her blue-grey eyes dart rapidly, absorbing every detail around her, often clouded with the shadow of anticipation. Her mouth rarely smiles outright, instead often pursed in concentration. Unexpectedly, she carries a delicate silver locket, often fiddled with when alone — a small, almost wistful contrast to her rugged exterior.