Race: Moon Elf
Age: No less than two-hundred, no more than three-fifty.
Height: 5'5
Build: Atrophied. Weak, 'average'.
Hair: Pale-blonde. Thick, voluminous.
Eyes: Green, viridian. Gold-flecked.
Skin: Tanned. Rough, scarred. Unpleasant to touch and sight.


A monster among men and an equal among monsters,
Or so it once was. In days past, the elf was a king of swords and had pushed her body to point of supernatural ability. The rigors of combat and the march of time have worn on her, and Circe finds herself unable to ever reach those lofty peaks once again. While she often exaggerates her own weakness, it's true that she has diminished. But still, glasses that seem false on close examination, hands capable of such fine control as to braid her own hair, and a lingering quickness with blade and fist might leave some wondering just how much of her retirement is an act.

A sound mind dwells within a sound body,
Circe is no exception. In her quest for mastery and self-discovery, the woman has trained her mind, body and spirit through rigorous meditation and fierce exercise. Intense training has left her with a lithe, athletic form; adapted for endurance far beyond that of most of her kin. Her body shows this well - sun kissed skin marked in all sorts of horrifying blemishes and scars serving as an unfortunate record of service; a cut that should leave her blind in the left eye and a terrible burn down that same-side shoulder that terminates unnaturally at her elbow chief among many others. Despite these marks only her face is touched up ever so slightly with tasteful makeup to help her appear more presentable.

A student of the principle art of cutting,
Mastery of the sword is perhaps the most boorish thing the blonde can imagine. Preternaturally gifted in the blade, Circe has learned to leverage her will through the sanctioned action and produce effects for which there are no mundane explanations. Fine control over her own metabolism and nervous system, able to shut off pain receptors and expel toxins, to channeling her life's force to cut through space and manifest where she pleases. Control over her own internal energy has afforded her skills beyond the ken of the typical warrior.

A sword is a useless piece of metal, and its adherents idiots,
A life spent mastering the blade and learning the most effective ways to cause harm has left the elf with an intimate knowledge of humanoid anatomy, of pressure points and toxins and vivisection, all of which the elf applies toward benign practices rather than the butchery she once indulged in.