Liscul is an unnerving study in controlled motion. He stands roughly the height of a gaunt human but moves with the coiled poise of a predator: his limbs are long and lean, joints too flexible for most humanoids, and each motion is finished precisely, as if he practiced the ending. His head is an elegant, mottled crown of mauve and greenish-violet, the ridges catching lamplight like wet marble; the four purplish-black feeding tentacles ring his mouth and writhe in micro-movements even when he speaks, as if testing syllables before they leave. A thin, glistening film of mucus clings to his skin; when he leans close it smells faintly of toasted garlic and something sweeter—vanilla and copper—and always a whisper of something older that smells of libraries and wet stone. He favors tightly wrapped scholar-vestments of deep onyx woven with angular drow runes; the cloth is cut to allow his long arms full freedom and is embroidered with minute staining of ink and preserved brain-sample lacquer. Unexpectedly, Liscul wears a small, chipped human ceramic bead threaded on a cord at his wrist—a childish trinket from his earliest days in Dhra-Muor-Shaiiu that he never removes. His movements are usually deliberate, almost slow, but he can snap into violent speed: when he fights or consumes knowledge, his tentacles and feet become a blur.