Edran moves like a reed in wind: fluid, purposeful, always leaning toward whatever direction his eyes mark. He wears a hood often half-dropped, revealing an angular half-elven face freckled from years of salt and sun. His left ear bears a small notch from an old netting hook; his right forearm is wrapped in faded leather strips covered in tiny stitched sigils of tides and safe passage. A thin scar runs from temple to jaw, pale against sun-darkened skin. When he walks, he favors the balls of his feet as if listening to the ground; his shoulders are relaxed but coiled. Unexpectedly, he keeps a child's painted wooden whistle tied to his belt—bright blue, worn smooth—an odd, playful contradiction to his otherwise weatherworn practicality.