Fiora stands taller than many men, heavily built and muscled over her curves. Her skin is a deep tan from the ocean sun, crisscrossed here and there with faded scars. Her blonde hair is kept tied back in a long ponytail that runs down her back, the side of her head shaved. She would be pretty enough, despite her many rough edges, if not for the perpetually serious look on her face, which can turn to a scowl or a homicidal smile easily enough. She moves at an unhurried pace, head held up high, and warily watches the world through green eyes that seem to expect drawn daggers at any moment.

She wears old, brine-marked scalemail armor, a long shark tooth necklace hanging down her chest. Her arms are bare, two fur-lined gauntlets around her forearms and hands, with matching boots, and a bear-skin cloak is wrapped around her shoulders in colder weather. A few crude weapons hang from her hip or are strapped to her large thigh, but her pride and joy is the wicked looking glaive she rests over her shoulders, the edge of the blade razor-sharp, the blunt end reinforced with a metal bludgeon, and along the haft, small trophies hang from leather strips- Wolf teeth, the claws of a wolverine, the tip of a deer horn and what may or may not be a twisted knot of human hair.