Kaelith moves like someone who has measured every inch of a room in duels and debates. They wear a long asymmetric coat of stitched midnight-blue leather that seems scuffed in places but never quite frayed; faint runic burn marks circle the cuffs. Their left forearm is wrapped in a faded travelling sash lined with tiny pockets for herbs and inks. A thin silver filigree circlet rests at their brow, half-hidden beneath hair, engraved with a pattern of rising and falling waves. When still, Kaelith's shoulders slope as if carrying something invisible; when they strike, their motions are crisp, economical, and almost dance-like. Unexpectedly, their right eye is clouded with a pale film that causes them to wink involuntarily when trying to appear solemn — a tic that disarms and unnerves in equal measure.