Brackle is a broad, compact Varisian man with the immovable shape of a harbor bollard, standing just under six feet but seeming wider whenever he folds his arms. Years of hauling crates, climbing wet stone, and working dockside have roughened his brown skin into a weathered, salt-dry texture across his knuckles and forearms. His black hair is cut close except for a narrow topknot tied with red thread, and his beard is trimmed into a blunt wedge that makes his mouth look permanently unimpressed. He moves with surprising economy, never hurrying unless someone else has already made the mistake of running. The contradictory impression is that he looks built to break doors, yet handles tavern crockery with the delicate care of a jeweler. Within a minute of meeting him, most people notice the brass tally ring on his right thumb, polished bright except for one deeply worn notch where he rubs it whenever he is deciding whether someone is lying.