Vurdan is broad through the shoulders, with a practical, weather-darkened complexion and hair kept in a precise row of short braids tied with plain cord. In a crowded room, his attention goes first to doors, then to the hands of anyone carrying food. He wears a patched wool vest over travel-stained clothes and keeps his weapons clean but unadorned.

Plain-spoken and observant, Vurdan has a dry patience with practical problems and very little patience for people who endanger a crew to save face. He is unexpectedly gentle with frightened animals and takes obvious pride in work that holds together under strain.

Vurdan grew up hauling timber and salt sacks along a rough stretch of coast, where a bad tide could ruin a week and a broken cart could strand a whole crew. He learned to judge a room the way he judged a shoreline, looking for the narrow exit, the hidden snag, and the person who had already decided to make trouble. When he was old enough to leave the docks, he apprenticed with a cooper, making barrels sturdy enough to survive a long crossing.