Seilara stood out from the typical member of her race for a few reasons. The most immediately evident of them was almost certainly her hair: gone were the long, white, delicate locks that marked a normal Drow. Close cropped, immaculately clean, and dark, it did not look dyed.
She looked older, uncommon given her race's general propensity for killing one-another. Crowsfeet highlighted bloodshot red eyes and faint lines were visible above her eyes in a pattern not dissimilar from scowling. This generally made her look far more disgusted with her surroundings by default. Her general stance carried her kin's characteristic arrogance, though it was heavily tempered by a world-weariness purchased in centuries. She generally smelled of incense.
She no longer openly carried a sword, and often favored a cassock in place of her conventional armor. Fastened about her neck was an ivory brooch depicting a the back of a ringed female hand above a skull and crossed femurs. In a more reasonable place, she'd have likely looked like an adventurer's worst nightmare.
I'm generally tell or walk-up friendly.
"Lights?" Seilara inquired, bemusedly. "I have just one -- I'm a jurisprudence fetishsist. I get off on technicalities."
|Player:||Where's Your Godmode Now|