Lenavel has long, titian hair - ever so slightly curly, in a loose and wavy form that falls down to her mid-back or so. It's matched by silver, stormy eyes, always seeming focused but never seeming to be focused on anything in particular; appearing instead as if to look past everything and stare intently at some lurking shadow in the back of the world. She is pale, with olive undertones in her impeccably clear skin. She wears what might be recognized as Dalish attire, consisting of leathers dyed a vibrant forest green hugging her lithe frame: a sort of close-fit tunic, sleeveless, dangling down to her mid-thighs, but overall seeming more like a strange sort of wrap. A cloak of a lighter green lazily droops down her back, covering little but with potential for greater use. Running up her legs are the standard Dalish boots, thigh-high brown deerskin but lacking fully enclosed feet. Running up her arms are similar long gloves, reaching to her bicep, and more uniquely they fully enclose her hands. The remaining skin between her tunic-wrap and gloves may be covered by little tufts of fur. Around her waist is a thick belt, and around her neck several necklaces of various items. The first necklace, the deepest-drooping, consists of stringed claws. the second, a bit higher up, dangles only a single item- a pendant of silvery, shimmering wood, carved into an image of what seem to be branches or antlers tangled in one another and similar in appearance to vallaslin patterns. Both are run on dark strings of twisted leather fiber. The last is a simple choker, a braided leather strap with a beautiful distressed look.

Lenavel has been heavily traumatized, and the resulting condition stunts her emotional and social growth to crippling levels. She retains a passionate empathy, a care for all things living be they plant, animal, or mineral. Contrary to expectation, however, is her inability to engage as an independent being. Indeed, she bears a strong dependency on the charity and goodwill of others, and suffers from crippling phobias of humans and social interaction in general. Crowds and directness turn her away, and she often feels isolated and alone. It is ultimately paradoxical: she feels stress when interacting with others, and generally prefers to be sulking and alone; the hole left by her tribe refuses to quite close. Often content to simply suffer in silence, when she does speak at length it is often as flowery and elegant as vallaslin. Were it not for her unfortunate past, she might've been a pinnacle of altruism and self-sacrifice for her tribe. Instead, she finds it hard to string together a full sentence.

Born as a magical prodigy in her clan, Lenavel had a fairly typical Dalish childhood. As a first she honed her skills, learned ancient stories, studied the gods, did all that was safe to do in exploring the remnants of Elven civilization, and most importantly became an expert in natural magic. She was well-prepared to serve her tribe in times to come, but was tragically separated on one fateful day. On a fairly typical nature walk with her best friend, the two were ambushed by bandits. Too far from camp to easily get help, they were defeated and hauled away. The two suffered fairly regular beatings, but never enough to deal lasting damage. These came especially as a result of the ferocity of the women in keeping the bandits at a distance despite their vulnerable situation - intimidating them to such a degree as to make them lose interest in any particular contact. It kept them safe from torture and abuse of all varieties, but made each day a fight. Over time, it became glaringly obvious that the pair were to be sold as slaves in distant lands. One dark night, they made a daring escape; each losing the other in the thick forests. Lenavel was alone. Not knowing what to do, or where to go, she simply began to travel mindlessly.

Her itinerant life has not been easy. It has not been welcoming. It is, however, the only path she knows.