Flynn Dituri looks like a man who has spent years walking out of furnaces alive. His straight brown hair is usually plastered flat to his temples by heat-sweat or powdered ash, and his brown eyes have a dry, watchful cast, as if he is always measuring the nearest escape route from a room he has no intention of leaving. He wears black chain mail under layered robes of woven asbestos and silk dyed charcoal black, the fabric matte in some places and faintly glassy in others where heat has fused the fibers. The robes hang like a priest's vestments but move with the heavy, deliberate sway of a veteran soldier. His left side is often covered in fine ash speckles that never seem to brush off completely, while his right hand bears a burn-scored knuckle ring where old scars have puckered the skin. The contradiction that makes him memorable is that his armor and robes look funerary and severe, yet he moves with a patient, almost maternal care when handling flame, as if he is tending a sleeping child rather than commanding a weapon. When Suetiua is near, Flynn's silhouette seems split between man and dragon, the red glow of the firedrake reflecting faintly in the polished metal links of his mail.