It's strange to say but most would describe Sylviel as oddly suited to the stereotype of a Knight of the Avenging Blade. Her mixed heritage lending her the graceful angularity of elven features with elements of the broader, less ethereal qualities of a human countenance. Small scars cutting trails down along her right brow and along the left cheek and over the bridge of a nose that has been broken and reset. In kind, her complexion tends towards a healthy but pale hue like her elven kinfolk and contrasted by the dark brown of her eyes and near black of her hair tied off into a simple, long braid to avoid catching in the splint, chain, and helm that are so often at hand. Those same eyes give rise to an air of dogged determination, of shrewd consideration, and of haunted memory that seems only to reinforce the impression of a woman ever on the hunt, ever in motion to set right and address every wrong doing... Whilst struggling to not lose sight of the greater picture, the greatest good.

All of which lending itself to a... presence of sorts that demands attention, demands wariness and consideration of one's own actions... If only to avoid drawing the attention of the Knight or her comrades-in-arms.

In matters of body and garb, she is rarely seen without some measure of the heraldic devices and colors of the order. Whether they be worked into simple shirts and pants or into arming coats and the sundry panoply of war. Where possible, her blade is always at her side. It's scabbard worn and cracked from the passage of years yet showing tender, thoughtful care. The blade itself, a longsword, seeming untouched by the years with an edge as fine as the day it was forged and the steel an unblemished silver. It's hand wraps worn to a light brown in counter point to the darker hue of the cross guard and sheen of the brass pommel. All of which catering to a certain... solidity of form that lacks the refined grace of elven folk in favour of power and stamina.