Aoife Brannagh is a 125lb 19-year old woman. Standing at 5’5” (165.10 cm), her frame is lean and athletic, built through years of rigorous training, yet retaining a wiry, graceful strength that mirrors her blackthron spear’s fluid versatility. She moves with an almost unnatural poise, each step measured as if she were always prepared to fight or flee. Her emerald-green eyes, luminous and unnervingly intense, seem to catch the faintest light, giving the impression that they glow in the dark. They carry the weight of her lineage, reflecting both the wild magic of Tír na nÓg and the burden of centuries of bloodshed. Her gaze is piercing, often leaving those who meet it unsettled, as though she can see through layers of pretense to the soul beneath. Aoife’s auburn hair is thick and untamed, often tied back in a loose braid to keep it out of her face during combat. Strands frequently escape, framing her angular features and high cheekbones, giving her a slightly wild, untethered appearance. Her skin is pale, marked by the sun only in the faint freckles that dust her cheeks and nose, a reminder of her Irish ancestry. Her attire is practical and resilient, chosen for survival in the wilds of the Cradle. She often wears a simple, dark green 1887 shirt cinched at the waist with a leather belt, paired with black, fitted trousers and sturdy boots. Over this, she drapes a weathered woolen cloak dyed in deep forest hues, the edges embroidered with faint, ancient patterns—wards of protection, stitched by her mother’s hand. Around her neck hangs a silver pendant shaped like a knotwork spiral, a relic of her family that serves as both a keepsake and a spiritual focus. Despite her hardened exterior, there’s an undeniable air of otherworldly beauty about her, as if the Sidhe themselves had touched her bloodline. But it is a beauty edged with sharpness, like a blade—captivating, yet dangerous to linger upon.