A svelte human woman of average height, Mara's overall appearance nevertheless conveys an impression of absolute power and control -- if not over her surroundings, then at least over herself. Her eyes are mahogany brown, if not jet black, and they slide smoothly and mechanically back and forth, drinking in her surroundings without comment or feedback. The slopes of her nose sweep gently down from between her eyes into a rounded peak, before dropping back into the rolling foothills of her pale lips. The gentle plains of her cheeks are speckled with sun-kissed gold. Her black hair pours over her shoulders like ink from a vial, and tumbles in loose curls to the small of her back. A thin circlet of woven silver cuts across her forehead like a gleaming bridge. Her expression is, simultaneously haughty and haunted, presumptuous and plagued, disdainful and distressed. Once upon a time, smiles frequented her face gladly, but they have become distant friends, and visit rarely.

Her clothing is simple but functional. A wrinkled shirt of light blue linen floats out from the edges of a tightly cinched leather vest. The sleeves of her shirt climb down her arms before vanishing beneath a rather unremarkable pair of doeskin riding gloves. At her waist, the shirt is tucked neatly into the waist of her muddy canvas breeches; at her neck, silver maille gleams just beneath the keyhole collar. A royal blue silk scarf is wrapped posessively around her throat. A trio of black belts ride snug across the swell of her hips,forming a star of leather just below her navel. The two tilted belts somehow manage to each carry the weight of a loaded scimitar scabbard -- one on each hip; the third lay at stoic equilibrium, providing ample support for a pair of matching black pouches. Tall riding boots cushion her feet. Her mottled green-and-grey cloak is held shut by a brooch engraved with an open eye, and a high quality backpack rests lightly on her shoulders.