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That winter had been particularly cruel and unforgiving. The wind, for three months, drove the snow to sound like abrasive sand against the windowpanes of the cottage, nestled in the depths of the Gray Forest. When the cry of a baby rose above the howling wind one fateful night, she thought for sure it was a mountain lion and let it be? When the cries hadn't relented after an hour she ventured forth into the heart of the blizzard. What she found swaddled and placed delicately in the heart of a hollowed out tree astonished her: a tiny, underweight babe; near death from exposure and cold. She hadn't expected it to last the night, let alone that first year. The child never thrived or recovered from that night in the blizzard, but it did persevere. It survived. It turned out to be a curious thing and quick witted and eventually came to call the woman 'Ouma', or Old Mother. Many years passed and soon the Silence came to the Gray Forest. Ouma did not outlast the Silence, but the child now a woman, survived. When the blight came to the Gray Forest, Niveah had to move on. Her livelihood was in the forest and the Earth. She wandered and never put down roots. It didn't take her long to realize that she didn't have the strength to carry on. She returned to the cottage to find it had burned down many seasons ago and so had no choice but to come to Arx to start her life.

Translucent alabaster skin is stretched over a figure that could be considered lithe at best and gaunt at worst; void of much muscle or fat to fill out all the gifts of the feminine frame. Beneath two bold, dark eyebrows are a pair of haunting coal black eyes. Often far-away, on the occasion when they are focused entirely on the here and now, they are deep and penetrating; troubled. They are wreathed in smoky hues that aren't entirely all khol, but are at least somewhat comprised of the faint discoloration that comes with long sleepless nights. Her long, sooty locks are frequently left loose without much care for style or grace and her nails always have trace amounts of dirt underneath them.

Niveah is often dour and prone to bouts of melancholia. She is quiet and reserved and only briefly do people ever get glimpses of what lies beneath her still waters. Still, she finds it easy enough to make acquaintances; but when it comes to friendships she often finds it hard to cement relationships and tends to drift away. She knows not about how steely her loyalty is, the depths of her heart, or how hot her anger burns as those aren't waters she's truly navigated yet. All she truly knows is her curiosity and fascination; the limits of which she can't seem to find.