The young and graceful Sea Elf, Nim'Eilsha, stands just short of 5'11", easily meeting the eye of most human men. In human years she would appear to be in her late teens or perhaps her very early twenties. Still, for those who have known her since the time the crew left Marienburg, there seems something about her, something.... older than before they left. The youthful girl they had first know has markedly matured, more than one her age should of in but less than a year. Nim's once gently curved youthful body had hardened, now tight and her wiry muscles well defined, particularly in her long arms and taut stomach. She had grown leaner, stronger, and faster over the months, like that of a hungry jungle cat scraping for survival.

She has new scars to show for all she had been through, as well. Though the worst of her scars remained the horrid mess of healed and over-healed tissue of criss-cross stripes on her back, and the almost thinly drawn ear to ear line on her neck. Both of these she had well before ever joining the crew. But her new marks further mar what could of been a amazingly beautiful elven woman. The thin scar cutting across her left eyebrow to her eye; Efrim had done a beautiful job on that. If luck had been against her, there might not of been an eye to save after she took a bullet from the Pirate Captain D'Amour.  Then there were the acidic burn marks on her thighs, leaving a splattering of white scar tissue where once her skin was smooth and even toned.  This was from the battle in Moussilon. The Witch-Elf that once possessed Virough left her mark on Nim just before Nim's arrow finally fell her. Lastly, and most dreadful, were the cruelly carved marks found on well thought of places on her body. Her inner thighs. Her breasts. The lower part of her belly.  Marks that were clearly artful in their design and the pain that the receiver must of endured. Enough to make some cringe in the thought at the sight of her marks. The strain marks from the shackles that must of been around her wrists and ankles at some point are blessedly not as noticeable, except if one is truly looking... though the shackles that created them were from something more than her slavery, having appeared along with her more artful scars after her rescue from Hashut.

She would never be desirable to a proper elven man again, even when she eventually regained some of the softness to her hips and breasts again, it would not be enough.  Even if she was able to win the heart of one, few would be so bold to take her for their mate.  It could damage their public image. And with elves, much of things was about image.

But truth be known, she was ruined long before she ever set out with Jannes and the crew.  Now, it was just a matter of her own vanity, which she was slowly giving up on. Except for her hair. True, her long, once glistening pale silvery white locks were now spun into thick tangles, darkened with the ash of the corpses of lost souls. But at least she knew how to mend that. She just needed a couple of good baths and some olive oil or oil of coconut to loosen the knots enough to work them through.  Though most any oil would do in a pinch. Any Sea Elf worth their salt knew that. So at least there was that, for what it was worth. And oh, how she longed for some juniper oil. Or juniper soap. Or just not smelling worse than a dog. But how she missed juniper. Fortunately, it is an evergreen. If nothing else, she could always gather some sprigs to roll her clothes in. Not all pleasures missed cost coin.

But still, there were still two things about her that were nearly perfect no matter what she seemed to go through; her singingly charming voice that could soften the hardest of hearts, and her vibrant tropical blue-green eyes that almost seemed to look right into your very soul when they were on you.  Though her eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion and sorrow, that would fade with a good night sleep or two. Or at least the exhaustion would fade. There was little that could be done for the sorrow... at least, not for the time being. Not unless he could be saved when the mission was through.

Remaining still as they always have been are the exquisitely crafted tattoos of a Trident of Mathlann surrounded by stylized waves and sea life on her upper right arm, and the angelically winged form the maiden of dreams, Lileath, on her left upper arm. She also bares best crafted tattoos of a swift and a compass star, to never lose her way and make her aim true. And lastly, beneath the mess of twisted scars on her upper back and shoulder blades is the pristine image of a snow white dove, it's delicate wings open in flight almost seeming to lovingly embrace Nim's thin waist. In the doves small beak, it holds a single key. It seems to echo the hopeful spirit of the worn, brave elven girl they have come to know.