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Nycelani was raised by loving parents in the Lower Burroughs in Arx. In fact, she's never left the city, and rarely has she ventured out of the neighborhood she was born into. She was young when her parents both grew ill and died, and it is said she remained in their home caring for them for weeks after their passing. It was only after rent was due that their death was discovered. An attempt to place her into an orphange was made, but she disappeared into the strees of the Lower Burroughs before that could happen, and that's where she's been since, begging for food, and perhaps even stealing it when absolutely necessary. The one place Nycelani found comfort was in the Great Cathedral of Arx, and she has been known to sit in the pews for hours, and she's even been chased away from sleeping there a time or two over the years. There's been no formal religious training, so she's caught scraps of information - but some of it lacking context. She's grown deeply religious as a result, but it's a skewed sort of religion - one people might consider heretical, though it's a crime of simply lack of knowledge and not one of intention. She's got theories! They're probably wrong - but they're theories!

A mop of messy red curls sit atop this young woman's head, clean, but largely unbrushed. It's been tied upon her head with scraps of ribbon and cloth that have been found in her travels. Emerald green eyes stare out at the world with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. Her flesh is of the lightest alabaster, the cast of blood vessels and capillaries beneath the skin giving it a luminescent glow, almost blue in its paleness. Of course, the pale flesh never quite tans, it just burns. High cheekbones look painfully pink and her nose glows with the redness of sunburn. The tips of her ears share the same angry red hue, and the skin there can be seen peeling from a recent sunburn. If she had been born into a place of priveledge perhaps she would have been beautiful, but the evidence of a hard life remains on her features. Her movements are sharp and her tongue is that of the lowers. Poverty has made its mark on her skin, and the callouses on her hands and feet are testament to the hard work she has endured.

Nycelani is quiet - until she's not. When she does speak it's often far fetched ideas about plots and conspiracies, and quite possibly the end of the world as we know it. She can be charming in her own way, and convincing if one isn't careful. Madness often masquerades as lucidity for a short time, but it's hard for her to maintain that facade for long.