Vaelis carries himself with the fluid grace of his elven heritage, but his hands are calloused and stained from years of tending to horses. His lean frame moves with quiet care, almost elusive in how he blends into the stable shadows, yet his pale silver eyes always catch the flicker of light and the subtle shifts in the wind. His midnight-black hair falls in tangled, uneven braids that betray the mundanity of his work—streaks of hay and dust cling stubbornly to stray strands. Contrasting this unkempt look is his immaculate, finely embroidered leather bracer embossed with his family crest, a delicate symbol most wouldn’t expect on a stableman. His voice is soft yet holds a melodic register, hinting at educated origins long abandoned.