Zaydan is a lean tiefling with the compact, weather-toughened body of someone who has spent years hauling rope, climbing ruined towers, and sleeping beneath bad roofs. His crimson skin has faded in irregular bands across his shoulders and forearms, as though sun and salt have rubbed the color thin. His lower canines are unusually long and blunt, visible whenever he laughs, and he eats with a careful sideways bite that makes strangers glance twice. Two short black horns sweep backward like polished ram curls, but one is wrapped in cheerful yellow thread and tiny wooden beads. His movements are quiet and economical until he hears music, at which point one heel begins tapping with embarrassing enthusiasm. He leaves an impression of danger contradicted by the smell of cardamom, lamp oil, and clean wool.