Corde hez Iralev didn't look much like a legend stepping off the ship. Her traveling clothes were salt-stained and sun-faded from months at sea. Dark hair pulled back with a spring barrette made of Metal - specifically of phosphor bronze - that a prodigious boy of eight had forged as a gift before her trip back. It wasn't as light as the hair ornaments the nobles wore, but she actually appreciated that bit of heft and bite it had to clamp on her thick hair.
That gift and the sword at her hip were the only two things on her person that looked well maintained. Outside of her clothing, there was the giant trunk she pulled up to the gangplank… a container whose treated wood still looked good enough for such a journey where cargo tended to slide about in the hold during rough wave storms. Though it didn't look like it was *treated* all that well when she got behind it and simply pushed it down the ramp.
