Vaelthoron moves with an eternal grace, his gait as fluid and deliberate as the river currents he so often communes with. His skin is pale as moonlight, but subtly textured like thin bark, hinting at his deep entwining with nature. His hair, long and silver-white, seems to shimmer faintly with a strange inner light, contrasting with two dark streaks framing his face as if shadows cling to him despite the brightness. His robes are woven of moss and leaves yet appear perpetually fresh, as if grown rather than sewn. Unexpectedly, his delicate pointed ears show scars—thin, jagged grooves etched into the flesh—suggesting painful conflicts incongruous with his calm demeanor.