You notice an odd, almost godly aura about Auriane.

You see GameMaster Auriane Macaria of Elanthia, an Elven Ranger. Auriane has transcended time.
She is in good shape.

She is holding a mug of black coffee in her right hand.
She is wearing a soft white linen shirt with front laces loosely opened and secured at each wrist with supple leather bracers, a tightly-laced leather bodice dyed in the deep shifting greens of an ancient forest, a pair of snug russet doeskin breeches, a pair of darkly iridescent sable boots made from the hide of who-knows-what, a low-slung brown leather belt embossed with bronze knotwork, a master falconer's gauntlet with Elven sigils for long life and fair winds stitched on the cuff in shimmering bronze thread, a green bag, a sprig of mistletoe, a copper hedgehog trinket, a hip pouch, a slender bamboo blowgun and a large-faced wrist sundial with the word "Soon" delicately carved into its surface.