Stately and taciturn, Guinevere is a woman of average height, with all the expected poise of someone of her station.
Fair-skinned in a way befitting the Arthurian White Lady she was so named after, Guin's creamy countenance was countered by just a dusting of freckle 'cross her nose, and a flowing length of raven locks that ended just around her shoulders, usually drawn into a small ponytail. Her eyes were alert but kind; coloured a cool, steely grey-blue. She possessed a build that was strong of limb and body; a leanness from countless hours on the road, at the forge and in battle. A small scar lingers near her left eye, lengthy but mostly healed.
She wore a long, black flowing cloak on her shoulders that trailed to a matching robe most clerical, complete with habit pellegrina which was embroidered in golden symbols of wreathing fire. Its usually-long sleeves were neatly tucked into her gauntlets - full, silvery things masterfully crafted, extending up her forearms. The gentle rattling of metal among her suggested a full, similar suit beneath the robes (albeit likely fluted and slim), though its only other regular appearance were the boots that occasionally emerged from her robe's tattered hem. A small crystal of smoky quartz hung as a pendant around her neck, and though her ears bore the marks of piercings, jewelry was typically absent.
Her selected weapon was a silvery-bladed longsword, complete with an elaborate, golden guard and a finely-wrapped grip. Fanciful from tip to hilt, the blade did show signs of biting at its edge, the wrapping at the pommel a little loose. A shield spanning from her crown to nearly her knees was oft strapped to her back, kite-like in shape and designed in ripple-like layers to deflect and distribute attacks. Age showed at its once mirror-like face, and its corners had begun to wear.
Lastly, a most peculiar of blades: appearing fashioned from a sort of wrought-iron, stylised in a gentle, coil-like twist that spanned nearly half the length before terminating in a dulled edge. Nearly as tall as she was -- and missing a hilt entirely -- it appeared as if incomplete, with a charred, blackened, fire-brittled look to the thing. It was usually strung in a cumbersome manner to her back as well, layered beneath her shield.
For her perceived gallantry, however, there was something certainly amiss: be it from the vague rust and tarnish to her silvery armour, or the tattering to her apparel -- hardly things enough to bat an eye to most, but certainly a goodly knight kept her things in goodly repair?