Valen moves with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who measures every gaze and gesture. His skin is sun-darkened and weathered from years outdoors. He keeps an elegant iron-tipped staff topped with a curled brass dragon's horn that seems faintly warm to the touch. His robe is layered, the inner lining embroidered with tiny red scales stitched in silk so densely they catch light like a flicker of embers. When he speaks he often tilts his head toward his left shoulder as if listening to music only he can hear. Unexpectedly, his left ring finger is wrapped in a child's faded ribbon and he absentmindedly twists it when thinking, a small, soft motion at odds with his otherwise theatrical posture.