Kaelin moves with a predator’s grace, his slender form wrapped in layers of muted leather and dark fabrics that whisper rather than rustle. His face is angular, sharp cheekbones casting slight shadows beneath striking emerald eyes flecked with gold — eyes that study too carefully and never wander. His ash-gray hair falls in uneven waves just past his ears, skinny silver braids tangled with bits of black thread spill over his left shoulder, an unexpected ornamental contrast to his otherwise utilitarian look. A thin scar tracing a lightning bolt runs from just beyond his right temple down to the corner of his jaw, almost hidden beneath unkempt strands of hair. Despite his quiet demeanor, there is an uncanny intensity in how he fixes his gaze, unsettling to some yet magnetic to others. Oddly, his left hand wears a pair of fingerless woolen gloves, patched with runes, while the rest of him looks prepared to disappear into any shadow. His movements often pause in subtle rhythms as if counting unheard beats before advancing.