The Xala'shar archimage shuffles about limply, its chest heaving with great difficulty as it struggles to draw breath underneath the robust fabric of the cloak. Its large, emaciated hands are bound tightly in several layers of filthy bandages, elongated fingers straining to grasp its staff. Carefully secured to the surface of its robes, a shimmering armor of polished chains surround its withered fame in a web of rattling gold, each link painstakingly engraved with a fluid scrawl. The deep hood of its robe has been pulled low across the face, concealing it from view, a never-ending stream of muttered babble issuing from within its black depths. Countless bloody skulls impaled upon golden hook and chains have been suspended from a black gold mantel set low across the Xala'shar archimage's shoulders, its surface adorned with shards of dark bone surrounded in a jagged scrawl.
It is wearing some filthy bandages, some deeply hooded black robes hung with a web of golden chains. It is carrying a spiraling oak staff topped with a large uncut bloodgem.