Kaelor moves like someone used to narrow city alleys and high libraries. He holds himself upright yet with a subtle forward lean as if always listening for an echo. His left temple is ridged with a faint, pale seam of healed burn scars that glow faintly when he uses magic. The hem of his coat is singed in a pattern like spilled ink, curious purple stains that do not fade. He wears a small brass monocle with a cloudy lens over his right eye that he flips up and down when thinking. Unexpectedly, his smile is gentle and gawky, which contrasts with the thin, precise gestures of his hands when he speaks of old bargains.