Corvinus is a man who seems to be melting under the coastal humidity. His frame is immensely portly, draped in layers of what were once fine Tethyrian silks, now darkened with rings of perspiration and splashes of old wine. His skin is slick with a permanent sheen of sweat that makes him glisten unpleasantly under the lantern light of the docks. He moves with a heavy, waddling gait, yet his fingers are surprisingly long and nimble, dancing over the surface of his ledgers with spider-like speed. Despite his slovenly attire and the faint scent of brine and cheap cologne that follows him, his fingernails are immaculately filed and painted with a clear, expensive lacquer.