Draskara is tall, spare, and so still that she often looks carved rather than born. Her pale green skin carries faint scale patterns like submerged leaves, and under torchlight the scales flash with a wet, surgical sheen. Her golden slit-pupiled eyes miss very little, yet her expression is usually serene to the point of discomfort. She wears shadow-silk medical robes layered over fitted wrappings, each seam packed with hidden pockets, instruments, and tiny vials that clink softly when she moves. Her hands are elegant and scarred, the fingertips stained with old reagents, while her movements are economical and quiet, as if every step has been measured in advance. The unexpected detail is the bright white laugh line at the corner of her mouth, a remnant of a childhood illness that nearly killed her and left her with a strangely warm, human smile when she is truly amused.