Oft heralded for the scent of charred wood and bread, Ygraeme can easily be distinguished for her time spent around a heated oven. It permeates even past the scent of perspiration, or that of mead, both of which occasionally cling to her. An art she may enjoy, and one that rarely threatens to exact itself from another, some might even recognize her for her labours and trade alongside the 'The Mad Badger' inn of Archet. The woman makes it no secret that she has left behind a troubling past, though she will confide in few the details, leaving anyone sufficiently intrigued to guess at what may be gleaned from her at first glance.

     Her hair is golden, save for when it takes on a darker hue for the colder seasons, and were it let free it might well descend to the middle of her back. Yet, she tends to bring these lengths over either shoulder to lay along her breast, loosely plaited and styled in a very much haphazard detail, accented with dull-coloured ribbon. Her framed face is complete with either of strong and dark brows, beneath which sit a pair of wide-set hazel eyes that are fixed in a hard stare, though any anger or defiance discerned within such a gaze is never immediately directed towards any particular individual.

     Her form and fashion could be possessing of certain clues in respect to her guarded history. For she is a small woman, some might even consider her stunted, standing at five feet, with naught save an inch to spare. Though recent years have added a healthy weight to her body, she still remains lean and thin of frame, perhaps suggesting physical malnourishment in her youth. This would further indicate initial poverty, even if her habiliment is seldom known to do so. The woman is obviously fond of freer attire, dress and tunics being dear favourites, and whilst they are regularly plain they are not averring of privation.

     Select blemishes riddle her anatomy, many concealed beneath her attire, whilst the most remarkable stretches from her left temple to her cheek. It is eerily meticulous in nature, appearing less than incidental, and there are multiple others akin to it that none would know of. Another defacing laceration can be observed as a white scar that races over the subtly crooked bridge of her nose, a permanent reminder of two seperate ordeals during which it was broken. Nonetheless, her acute sense of smell is unhindered and it is indeed keen, its strength uncanny.