Before you stands a woman in her late twenties or early thirties with coal-black hair, cut short, hazel eyes and fair skin. Ashleigh's visage presented her career as a soldier rather forthrightly, with it being changed by a long, deep scar that ran down the right side of her face, several smaller scars over her brow, preventing the hair from growing properly, and a nose that looks like it was broken at least once. She likely sleeps very little, given the dark circles around her eyes, and the smell of alcohol has a tendency to overpower the cheap perfume she wears to hide it.

She is tall, at five feet and ten inches of height. She carries a menacingly hooked war hammer in her belt and a wooden kite shield across her back. Her armor is specially designed for her rather top-heavy build, the plates shaped to her form to offer the best protection. Around her neck is wrapped an old and worn red scarf.

Her overall demeanor seemed gruff and rather to the point, not one to waste time with too many words.