At a distance, and in a room lit only by flickering flame, an undiscerning eye might mistake Tola for a mortal woman. Her silhouette is human enough, though despite her small frame those with keen senses quickly notice that something is wrong. Sharp eyes might spot flickering shadows about her, sharp ears might hear the sibilant hiss of magic that accompanies her every movement. Those whose gaze pierces shadows would see her as one such, ephemeral and even transparent in the dark. She is quick though, so devilishly quick, and evading even the keenest gaze is for her only a matter of will.

When she wishes to be seen, it is never without a heavy cloak and hood, thick cloth giving her the ability to hide herself in plain sight. Under the light of the sun, there is no disguising the inhumanity of her features. Within the dark she is a wraith, but the light strips that away from her. Her flesh is as dry and taunt as leather long scorched by the sun. She is far too small to be of Ulstang, fully a head shorter than most Northern women, let alone the men.  His limbs are rail thin, with dried veins visible beneath her paper thin flesh. Yet despite his decrepit appearance and tell, he movements are silky smooth, the languid grace all predators share.