Lady.Rhaenyes Rahareon rode in the front of the caravan with the other templars, having earned the title of Grand Templar some time ago when she was but a young girl not that she actually followed most of their annoying ideological prattle, riding atop a beautifully stout black stallion with a sleek coat; contrasting against her bright white surface hardened steel plate trimmed with gold. The leg sections scale entirely as opposed to actual plate, shifting with each move the horse made, two hooks on the front of her breast plate held a long crimson red cloak onto her back flowing just down over her horse occasionally rising with the wind though the weight of the fabric kept it from flying about. She forewent her lions head helm while riding, preferring the comfort and ease of visibility of not wearing the steel feeling that it was unnecessary with a group the size of the one they currently were in, made up of several trained templars and magi. Not to mention her, the rich prodigy child of old Lord.Rahareon the richest lord the world over thanks to the plentiful supply of gold and iron ore on their house's ancestral land; leading her house to funding many of the Empire's wars and the orders expeditions. A sly smile cut into her sharp and well defined facial features, looking as if it could actually cut a man the same as the glittering longsword sheathed on her right hip, the mithril work the finest in all the land its edge cutting far greater than steel while remaining half the weight. Her silver hair almost matched the swords tone, and flowed elegantly past her shoulders truly tying together her regal and noble appearance, something that oft irk'd people about Rhaenyes they hated seeing their betters she had always reasoned. And she was better in sword, tongue, wealth, love, challenging anyone to say otherwise at the point of her blade.

Though for this she would have to try and get along with those around her, sent with the oddly arrayed group like the other templars present to oversee the magi and keep things from going awry in anyway; she knew all of the templars around her whether through repute or brief meetings in the past. And clearly they knew her, along with everyone and their mother, for she was hard to miss at six feet tall in her armor of white and gold. Her eyes wandered from the road, her horse knowing well enough how to walk without her constant attention gazing instead at each of her companions and the carvan car holding the others; thinking to herself how each of them looked on first glance a good measure of people in her mind was their initial appearance before they could retreat into deceit.