Tall and lean, Corvin moves with the deliberate grace of someone used to stepping between reeds and rotten boards. His dark cloak hangs damp at the hem as if he has only recently stepped out of mist; the fabric is embroidered along the collar with a pattern of raven feathers stitched in near-black thread that only catches the light at certain angles. His left cheek bears a shallow crescent scar that begins at his jaw and disappears beneath a neatly kept beard. When he smiles it is slow and measured, like the tide pulling back. Unexpectedly, the whites of his eyes have a faintly bluish ring when he looks at something he doesn't trust, an effect that makes him seem both tired and unnervingly alert at once.