Solomon is a tall, lean elf who seems assembled from old paper, candle smoke, and stubbornness. His long white hair grows wild at the sides of his head, while the crown is mostly bare and polished by decades of absentminded rubbing. A narrow goatee hangs from his chin like a question mark. Circular brass spectacles sit low on his nose, their lenses etched with tiny moving letters. He walks with a slight forward lean, not from frailty but from the habit of reading while moving. His hands are ink-stained at the fingertips, and he smells faintly of cedar shelves, rain-soaked wool, and bitter tea, though he insists the temple's ventilation is at fault. The unexpected contradiction is his smile: warm, boyish, and almost impish, utterly at odds with his ancient face and terrifying reputation.