Halar stands like a cliff given human shape, broad-shouldered and immovable, with skin weathered into a map of stone-like ridges and old white scars. His long dark-brown beard is divided into three thick braids, each threaded with heavy stone rings that click softly when he turns his head. He wears a simple, heavy gray wool mantle over pristine monastic wraps so clean they seem almost ceremonial, and he moves with such deliberate control that even his smallest gestures feel measured against an unseen wind. The unexpected detail is his hands, which are callused and cracked like a mason's, yet always smell faintly of rainwater and lavender oil.