Race: Elf
Presumed Age: 150
Height: 5'2
Sex: Female
Orientation: Pansexual
Alignment: Neutral Evil leaning towards Chaotic

 Before you stands a visage, both disgusting, and hauntingly beautiful. The perfect form of an elf, curved, enticing, but beneath that form courses toxin. Her dark hair is matted in places, a cigarette near always poking from her lips. Her eyes are sunken, empty, yet feral, and dangerous. Despite her unclean appearance, the smells that surround her are always enticing; and always different for whomever smells her. Indeed the scent for one might be their favorite spice, cinammon, or what have you, whilst for another it may be their favorite flower, or the heady scent of sex itself. Whatever enticed them more.

 Everywhere this woman went, things seemed to gray over, to deteriorate. Grass would wither, stone would darken, or crack. She was a Blighter, the antithesis of all druids. Life itself weep'd with every breath she drew, and she revelled in it. Druids, animals, and other creatures deeply in tune with nature would feel this vile presence, like a gaping void within the natural world itself, always unsettling. Yet to those of an unnatural persuasion all their own, she would be an oasis, a beacon. A source of endless comfort, and delights.
 
 She carried herself with a slump of her shoulders, her stance always tired, always ill. Despite this, she always seemed hyper, alive, charged. Those sunken eyes darted about, pupils often dialated. A word for her, was manic. It was rare to find her without some manner of substance being abused, legal or otherwise. A bottle in hand, a pipe, a needle. If she didn't have it, she was getting it.

 Now here she was, in Sinfar, the perfect bastion for such vices. Here she was, prepared to take all this place had to offer for herself, as she had so many others.