Varyn moves with the lithe, spring-sprung gait of an elf used to long roads and heavy loads; his steps are careful and economical but never hurried. He wears a patched duskcloak that seems darker at the edges than the center, as if the hem remembers the Shadowfell. His skin is the ashen gray typical of his people, but where his hands meet the leather straps of his harness the skin is polished to a warm, almost human bronze from decades of carrying. His face has sharp cheekbones and a vertical scar through the left eyebrow — the scar catches light and makes his expression look permanently alert. Unexpectedly, his right shoulder bears a small woven child's ribbon (faded blue) pinned beneath his armor like a secret talisman, contradictory to his severe bearing: it flutters when he walks. When he carries heavy loads he hums low hymns under his breath, and when unburdened he often walks with his head tilted slightly, listening to city noises as though they were a map.