Magistrate Elara Voss carries the look of someone who moves between court chamber and rough road. She wears governor's robes over weathered traveling leathers; the robes are crisply pleated and trimmed with bronze filigree, but the hems are dust-dark where they brush the road. Her movements are efficient and economical; she gestures as if annotating the air, tapping invisible margins. Unexpectedly, she keeps a small slip of faded ribbon tied to her left wrist, frayed and stained, which she fingers when thinking. The overall impression is of tidy authority that has learned to survive discomfort.