Sylvanas has pale, bluish skin, although she is in better condition than most of the other undead who are visibly decaying in appearance. Her skin shines with a white or silvery glow that becomes red when she is agitated. Her hair, once blonde, is now reddish. Sylvanas still wears the garment she was wearing at the time of her death, although her coloring has been darkened. For some reason, her body bears no scars from the countless wounds she received on the day she died. As when she was alive, she prefers to remain hooded, Sylvanas' armor consists of a detailed chest plate that exposes her toned midriff and greaves atop a light, green cotton trousers. Her gauntlets are decorated with a large gem on each, and her spaulders are adorned with spikes, skulls and white feathers that match her own reddish hair. She wears a crimson hooded cloak, tattered and ripped at the bottom, the hood of which is nearly always up. She keeps her quiver and her bow slung across her back most of the time, and can often be seen with her two blades sheathed at her waist.

More recently, Sylvanas launched a genocidal attack on the Night Elf homes of Teldrassil and Darnassus, completely destroying both and killing any who did not escape in time. This atrocity against her own race of origin provoked a new wave of Alliance-Horde hatred and violence, sending Azeroth into bloody warfare once again.

The grand hall of Lordaeron lies silent under torchlight. Broken banners flutter from columns. The throne, cracked and scarred, looms behind a raised dais. Sylvanas sat in the throne that was once king There as as center stage, her Bow Rae’shalare, cloak covering a side of her shoulder and left arm, her red eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.

"I was once a Farstrider. I swore an oath to defend Silvermoon and its people to my dying breath. It was not enough. My homeland still burned. But those days are long past, and history will not repeat itself. I am Sylvanas Windrunner, Warchief of the Horde, Queen of the Forsaken. And if you will not serve me in this life, then you will do so in the next..." Sylvana's voice echoed through the halls of her banner capital, Lordaeron, as Warchief of the horde, Banshee Queen of the forsaken, she had many plans, and she would not let the High King, that boy king Anduin, ruin it, she narrowed her crimson eyes at the five alliance prisoners, as the heels of her greaves clanked on the solid floor, she slightly tilted her head. "There are five.. make it one.." upon order, her soldiers slit the throats of four soldiers, leaving but one, without turning or addressing the prisoner directly,she spoke again.

"Where will the high command of the alliance be conveying...?." Her tone drop to a dangerous one as her crimson eyes glowed beneath her hood.