This quiet elf seems neither particularly pretty, nor gregariously prone to random acts of sexual lust. She stands just over five an a half feet, slight of build and tanned to leathery dark brown.  Her hair, bone white, usually falls across half her face to obscure the eyepatch on her left side.  Always seeking to make up for the loss, her other eye is ever-shifting about, drinking in details through an iris of the deepest purple.  

She appears young at first glance, but the creases at the corners of her eyes, the brusque nature of her speech.. the way there seems ever to be the hilt of a knife on hand.. bespeak greater years.

Not that this one talks much anyways, no.  She's a quiet one.  Mother always did say you can't see the world coming at you when you're too busy talking at it.



Irony.

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No lights to speak of.
Roleplaying is nice, don't you think?