Thalen moves like someone who grew up walking on reeds and mud: slow, deliberate steps, weight always balanced, body slightly crouched. His face is long and weathered, with a thin scar that runs from the right temple to the jaw — the kind made by reeds, not blades. His hands are perpetually stained a faint green-brown from algae and plant sap; when he reaches for things the motion is unexpectedly gentle. He wears a battered hooded cloak whose inner lining is stitched with little pockets of dried herbs and fishbone charms. Contradictory to the marsh-grimed look, Thalen keeps one item immaculately clean: a brass compass pendant that gleams like new against his chest.