Artwork by theant4

Beneath her tattered gear, burned uniform in texture and hue by the relentless desert sun and sand, this woman is lean, almost whiplike in build. Her face is weathered and nearly the same color as her cloak and hood, etched with deep lines that could be exposure, care, or something else. Her stern, harshly-carved features give the impression of maturity, but she does not move nearly so much like an old person as she does like heat lightning or a striking deathtail. There is an eldritch quality of agelessness about her being, as though, perhaps, she was never young to start with.

Weighed down by bandoliers, pockets, and pouches of every description—all stuffed with who-knows-what—and clad in tough leather, the woman appears completely unbothered by the heat; the dust and grime that cling to her is not even streaked by sweat. The only clean patch anywhere on her figure is an oblong silhouette across her eyes, where her dark goggles usually rest; everything else is concealed by layers of protective hides and rough cloth.