Rune Skyreach moves like a stone carved into motion: deliberate, balanced, and capable of sudden, flowing speed. Their skin is dusted with the pale grey of high snow and bears faint, grass-stem scars from years of cliffside living. Tattoos of wind-etched runes spiral along their left forearm in faded indigo — the ink is older than most ink, made from mountain lichens. Their head is shaved save for a single long braid of ash-white hair wrapped in red cord that swings with uncanny timing when they walk. Their gait alternates between the slow, measured tread of someone who counts each step and a spring that can turn into a stride across roofs and ridgelines. Unexpectedly, Rune's hands smell faintly of jasmine — from the small sachet of village tea they keep tucked beneath their belt.