Ishi is an astonishingly rotund man, his belly pushing out embarrassingly like a bulging keg, yet he moves with unexpected speed and surprising grace for his size. His sun-baked skin is slick with a permanent sheen of sweat and stale ale, giving him a slick, almost glazed look. His short, greasy black hair sticks out awkwardly at odd angles, as if each strand has its own agenda. His glassy dark brown eyes dart constantly, shifting focus before settling, betraying his notoriously short attention span. A conspicuous contradiction: despite the layers of grime and unkempt look, his teeth are absurdly pearly white from obsessively chewing on mint leaves to mask the stench of drink. When he walks, he sways a little, as if drunk even when sober. He typically wears a stained, stretched-out leather apron over a flamboyant silk shirt that’s too tight, the collar often popping open to expose a heavy gold amulet whose significance only he understands.