Barnaby is a man of weathered grace, possessing a face etched with the fine lines of sun exposure and a life lived near the spray of salt water. He stands with an unexpectedly elegant, upright posture that suggests a man who spent decades balancing on shifting decks. While he maintains the rugged air of a mariner, he is surprisingly fastidious, always clean-shaven except for a sharply groomed, salt-and-pepper goatee. His movements are fluid and precise, bordering on a dance as he navigates the narrow gaps between crowded tavern tables. The most striking thing about him is the contrast between his rough, calloused hands and the delicate, meticulous way he handles fragile crystal glassware.