Vrenna cuts a distinctly imposing figure. She stands tall nearly beyond the constraints of the human frame, broader across the shoulders than most men-at-arms and broader still through the hips. The tail that extends her spine could pass for a smaller woman's thigh or an elephant's trunk, and she whips it around with the quick, casual flicking a cat might. Her skin is all over the gray of storm clouds and ashes. Thick, jet-black hair rolls down over her shoulders, framing pronounced cheekbones and the fluid slope of a jawbone that may be the only delicate part of her before fading to a rich crimson. Her eyes balance on the line between honey-gold and inhuman yellow. And between her horns, bulky and forward-swept like a pit fiend's, a double handful of shorter points rise like a crown.

Vrenna favors light robes—heavier in this climate—in bright colors, with more gold trim than is strictly fashionable. Her cloak of office, however, is uniformly scarlet, with thick, sable embroidery outlining an inverted star. The design matches exactly the relief in the round amulet she wears on a long, iron chain around her neck.