Shiaran Whiteraven
The woman before you is distractingly beautiful.  Long brown hair flows loose around a face bearing a perpetual smirk, as if life is one big humorous irony.  Her irises are grey with a hint of dark blue, the color of storm clouds that obscure the sun, laden with rain that is about to fall.

She wears tight-fitting leather armor that matches her eyes over a fit, lithe form.  She is not far past five feet tall, and perfectly proportioned in all the right places.  Finger-less brown gloves cover long, slender fingers that move in precise, intentional movements.  She is someone familiar with working with her hands to do more than write or sew.  A dark indigo silk scarf covers her throat and trails down her back.

At her waist is a belt full of pouches of varying sizes.  She wears two throwing daggers at her hips.  Two more peek from the tops of her boots, which rise almost to her knees.  A slightly curved katana is sheathed on her back, it's hilt rounded with merely a slight stop to prevent the hands from sliding up onto the blade.  The hilt is large enough for two hands if need be.  It's sheath is grey and bears a phoenix and dragon design.

The woman carries over her shoulder a black, silk satchel with arcane markings embroidered into it in silver thread.  It is large enough to carry a small book or perhaps a sack lunch.