Ayesha Jamarthe is a beautiful woman, probably. With a body built for fitness
and flexibility, she has the exotic features of the South, with long black hair,
dusky brown skin, angular face and strangely green eyes, that seem the product
of a distant serpentine ancestry. However, the effect is spoiled somewhat. Those
eyes are usually bleary and vacant, her hair unkempt, and face varies between a
carefree smile and a grumpy scowl.

And she dresses like a common beggar, with pants, loose shirt and cloak that are
ragged, patched and stained in places. Her legs end in sandals that might be
almost new, and her hands are in fingerless gloves. She carries a wooden staff,
to lean on mainly, or to tie her bundle to. From time to time she draws an
easily concealed weapon or hip-flask from the folds of her clothes or pockets.