Thaddeus Kael is a sharp-featured human man in his mid-fifties whose narrow face seems assembled from ruler-straight lines and sleepless decisions. His thinning iron-grey hair is combed backward with almost ceremonial precision, though a single stubborn lock repeatedly falls across his crown during stressful testimony. His fingers are permanently stained with blue-black ink, especially around the nails, and his pale grey eyes track every movement in a room with unnerving patience. He moves with economical, gliding steps, never hurrying unless someone else is in danger. His teeth are unusually even but slightly pointed at the incisors, giving his rare smiles the impression of a politely displayed trap. The unexpected contradiction is that beneath his severe judicial robes he wears bright crimson wool socks embroidered with tiny golden chickens, a private joke from his late wife that he refuses to surrender.