A knight in a suit of armor, rarely if ever seen out of it. Torquemada's suit is pristine and ostentaious, guilded with gold and etched with holy engravings of celestial wings and laurels. Even the helmet and visor sported a winged appearance that conjured images of immaculate celestial hosts with their divine plummage and gleaming gold. However, a ghostly blue fire could be seen smoldering in between the gaps of her gold-colored plate along with layers of ash.

On Ollena's hip was a warhammer, ancient and worn yet still sturdy enough to lay down punishment as she sees fit. Other than her weapon, the woman's equipment was maintained to an imaculate degree by hands that clearly loved the craft. She was the striking visage of a knight in shining armor.

Ollena's voice rang out with a tin-like echo and metal rattling betrayed her presence long before the smell of a funeral pyre did. She rolls her R's and talks with the speed of a saleswoman but has the stiff gait and uncompromising posture of a soldier. Torquemada's body language operated under an economy of motion, and that economy was currently undergoing a recession.