Thallan is a man of sharp angles and faded elegance. He wears a high-collared coat that has seen better decades, though the stitching remains masterwork. His movements are fluid but punctuated by a slight, rhythmic twitch of his right hand. His most striking feature is the contrast between his eyes: one a vibrant, observant violet and the other a dead, milky white. He carries himself with the wounded pride of a fallen aristocrat, smelling of old parchment and expensive, drying ink. Despite his lean, almost skeletal build, his hands are remarkably steady, moving with a hypnotic, rhythmic precision as if he is constantly sewing an invisible garment.