There is nothing human about Zetaya beyond her shape. From her burnished skin to her blazing hair she seems almost carved of the elements as if forged from brass and flame. Graceful and sleek but blessed with a feminine frame, she is a living weapon, hammered and lashed into a dangerous shape by a firm hand and silver scourge; the argent scars of the later crisscross her shoulders and back to prove it.

Her clothing favors flexibility and flair, and flaunts her figure, all show and menace, and she gravitates towards short blades with a weapon in each hand. Smoke rises from her faceless red eyes when she's incensed and her jaw is often set stronger than the deepest of dwarven foundations though like sunrise and sunset, it's expression is occasionally host to a smug and playful smile.