Crawdia is, at first glance, an older looking Iksar. Bands of precious metals, mostly gold, hang from her wrists, ankles, neck, and tail, along with several hoops dangling from her frills that jingle in the wind. Her eyes are pale and lifeless, staring blankly ahead.

The bag sitting on her hip is covered in feathers, bone, teeth, shrunken heads and beads, bottles and small containers hanging off with strange noises coming from them every few moments.