Thalruk appears as a tall, lean dragonborn whose cerulean scales are marred with faint silver lightning scars tracing along his forearms and jaw. He wears a simple, loose sleeveless robe cut for freedom of motion and a small round felt hat that sits a little askew; perched over the bridge of his snout are tiny, perfectly round black sunglasses whose lenses reflect nothing but soft light. His movements are slow and deliberate, a coiling economy of motion — when he strikes, however, his limbs fold and snap like a spring. Despite his age his posture is impossibly straight; his breath often smells faintly of ozone, and his voice has a dry rasp that softens into a musical cadence when he speaks of the monastery. Unexpectedly, his toes are ink-stained from years of calligraphic meditation, a quiet eccentricity at odds with the severity of his gaze.