The Xala'shar conjurer 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. 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. Gruesome totems dangle from twin black leather thongs sewn along the exterior edge of its arms, some of the curious objects oozing and twitching of their own accord.
You recall everything noteworthy about a hulking Xala'shar conjurer... which is apparently nothing.
They are not known to cast any recognized spells.
They are known to carry loot in locked boxes.
It is wearing some filthy bandages, some ragged black robes hung with several carved bone totems.
It is carrying a dirty white oak staff capped with a mist-filled globe.
Immune to cold and all poisons.