Elara is a vision of frantic elegance caught in a thunderstorm. Her once-immaculate silver robes are smeared with soot and floor-dust, and her long hair is pinned haphazardly with a brass tuning fork that hums faintly. She moves with a bird-like jitteriness, her fingers constantly twitching as if tracing invisible equations in the air. While her features are classically Elven and delicate, her skin is deathly pale from weeks spent in the keep's bowels, and her posture is hunched from hours over ancient charts. Her eyes are wide and bloodshot, darting toward every sound of the siege outside.