Sivri Odu is a slim, elegant half-elf woman who stands perfectly upright even when exhausted, as if an invisible thread runs from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. Her movements are quiet but never timid. She turns corners with the fluid precision of poured ink, then ruins the effect by grinning at people from upside down when she has the opportunity. Her hands are the first thing most people notice: long-fingered, callused across the palms, and stained permanently gray at the knuckles from years of grinding charcoal, polishing bells, and practicing strikes against soot-covered stone. She is dressed almost entirely in black and soft gray, yet a childish string of red glass beads is tied around one ankle. The contradiction makes her seem both dangerous and oddly approachable. In fog, her silhouette appears taller than she really is, and her playful expression often arrives a heartbeat before the rest of her face.