Meraldia was raised as if she were to be a mother, never intended to be thrust into the unforgiving world. She was small, soft, and without the strength of the manual worker; so when she abandoned the life she knew, believing the world would be kind, it hit back hard and shows for it.

Firstmost, Meraldia is scrawny and underfed. Years of travel, through desert waste, mountains, thickly grown forest and unending plains have let muscle grow upon her limbs. Her hair grows long and wild, drawn back with leather strips to keep from her vision.

The woman's eyes are brown, which shine akin to crystalized amber in the strike of the suns light. Her skin is deeply tanned and covered in a layer of dirt most commonly, her clothes likely in just as poor condition.

Visually, she is of Harad. When she speaks, the accent seeps through. For how long she has traveled, and from through where, she has mainly picked up on Westron and the necessities of it; perhaps not on a fluent conversational level. She knows some of the speech of Rohan, and only a meager few harsh words of the dwarrows.