If there ever was a cat woman, Sady would be her.  More often than not, her golden-blond hair is disheveled, and amongst her locks hang various little trinkets and ornaments that would seem more at home in a child’s toy chest.

  Her skin is a dark tan, telling of a great deal of time spent under the great warm sun.  Her eyes are marked like a cat’s: bright, piercing gold in color with narrow slits for pupils.

Her lip has a disturbing scar from her left cheek to her right chin.  She almost always has her signature armor: a suit tailored to her specifications, with gauntlets whose fingers end in sharp claws and boots that resemble cat’s feet, claws also included.

The armor’s seen a lot of wear; it still has dark crimson stains where Sady bled and made others bleed on her.  Loose metal knick-knacks hang off her armor from strings and strips of leather, giving her a disorganized fanfare of the metallic percussive type wherever she goes.

 All of this is concealed under heavy, bulky brown robes that smell distinctly of earth and death.  Beneath the armor, her otherwise pleasant body is marred by scars and cuts of different shapes and sizes.

Her stance is always that of someone ready to pounce, and she hands out dangerous looks like they were candy.