Standing at just a hair under three feet tall and of rather thin build, Dweeble is hardly an imposing figure.  Her alabaster skin is an almost sickly pale, the badge of honor of a woman who spends her time away from the sun.  Her greasy black hair is unkempt and ignored, the dark rings below her eyes an additional sign of the kind of care she affords herself.  She sticks to wearing dark, covering clothing.  Black or deep brown long-sleeved tops, tight waist cinches, and tight black pants that don’t ruffle or disrupt her movements.  She does not wear traditional boots or shoes but instead sticks to simple cloth slips that allow her feet a more personal feel across whatever she walks on.  The only aspect of her person that truly stands out is the density of equipment at her belt.  Pouches full of clanging objects, hip bandoliers filled with daggers and knives, and even twirls of rope and traps.  It’s hard not to notice that she comes equipped for a variety of circumstances that most would consider less than savory.