Relentless, Inhuman, Disciplined.

These are the things that are often used to describe the likes of Skitarii Rangers among the broader swath of man. Their tactics well known and fearsome in their effectiveness against the Mutant, the Xenos, the Heretek. It is, by these doctrines and the trials they represent, these virtues that have molded and shaped Sarima since before her full inclusion in the Legio Skitarii. She has the distinct impression of one built and bred to purpose, standing 1.8 meters tall and weighing precisely 81.65 kilograms without allowing for variations in gravity... She is a daunting and imposing figure.

That nothing of her flesh is even visible in any meeting the various command units and retinues have had with the leadership of the Skitarii Macroclade only further tempers that daunting impression. When motivated to speak she has always been blunt, cold, and brutal in her precision with little of what one might define as human remaining except a seemingly endless fanaticism to serve the Lords of the Adeptus Mechanicus to the full extremes of their expectation. A fact that shows in the state of her auto-cuirass. It's grey ceramite and radio-repelling materials scarred, mended, and scarred anew in their array across her physical form. Each molded and machined precisely to exacting tolerances to provide few if any structural weak points and further supported by a durable and no less insulated body suit beneath. That very machining, however, betrays the biological sex of the weak flesh... If only barely. Her face is in kind hidden behind an environmentally sealed helm and respirator unit with the luminous blue ocular sensoriums so emblematic of the Skitarii Rangers. Of note, however, is the finer details in the robes of office; crimson and gold but also lined with thousands of small spheres that seem to leech ambient heat and radiation harmlessly away. The subtle identification markings and touches of paint further identifying her not as one of the Graian Skitarii but a transfer from distant Mars.

Despite all the garb of war... There remains an almost upsetting grace with each motion as if none of it weighs more than the feather of some avian species. Her steps silent, precise, and rarely making a noise without the deliberate intention of doing so. The whole reinforcing that air of relentless, ruthless, efficiency that has allowed the Red Priests of Mars to achieve all that they have.

The strange bulk of an arc rifle and more familiar length of a mono-knife is rarely far from reach when not explicitly forbade by protocol overrides issued either by a ranking magos or similar figure among the uninitiated. Further signalling her martial role in the great plans of the Omnissiah.