Adela Reinhard is a woman that has seen precious little kindness or light in the decades of her existence. A once native of the cursed world of Dusk, her eyes have born witness to things that should not be and the fell and twisted beasts conjured up by the darkest twists and turns of evolution that might be imagined... So much so that they seem to find little surprise or dismay in the casual horrors inflicted upon the men of the Imperium of Man.

The tall figure that she cuts seems to bear no less sign of long hardship and a wretched struggle to survive against monstrous odds born from within and from without. The meat of her frame clinging tightly to sturdy bones and giving off the long distant echoes of privation and worse but doing little to hide a certain strength of both form and mind. Most striking, though, is those rare moments where lips part just enough to reveal teeth. Each single tooth in her head seeming pulled from that of another to form a panoply that has been stained and weathered to ward off rot and worse but only given the most token care to ensuring that each matches to the other. Her dark hair shows far more care, by contrast, with elaborate braids and dreads taming one side whilst it's opposite flows far more freely.

That same figure only built upon by the anachronistic mix of both modern and primitive weapons and armour that seem always at hand as if to be more than a few scant feet from anything was unthinkable. Each weathered with use and shown an almost ritualistic care in their upkeep from the many notched axe at her hip to the banded leathers that ostensibly kept her safe from the worst that Dusk had thought to put before her. The tattered robes of her 'office' draped over this panoply of war and survival with worn but sturdy boots, trousers, and loose chemise beneath to protect against elements and modesty beneath.

Were all this not enough to make her appear as cursed and different in the eyes of the average Imperial citizen... They need only see the mark of sanctioning upon her left cheek; it's inks livid in deep black and crimson against the weathered but pale hues of her complexion. It's symbols and etchings into the flesh spelling only a single message; Psyker. Tolerated only by the authorities of the ancient institutions of the Holy Imperium and watched forever more for signs of heresy, witchery, and far worse.