Alda Marr is slender even by elven standards, moving with the careful economy of someone who expects the world to crack if handled too roughly. Her pale robes are ink-stained at the cuffs and threaded with copper wire in places where she has stitched them herself after too many long nights at the ward table. Her left hand trembles almost imperceptibly when she stands near active rune-work, but the rest of her body stays unnervingly still, as if she has taught herself not to waste motion. One ear is nicked at the tip, and she wears a tiny brass lens on a chain that she flips over one eye when inspecting glyphs. The contradiction that people remember is how her voice and manner are quiet and reserved, while her tools are meticulously bright, polished, and arranged with near-ceremonial pride.