Baelin is a man of deceptive simplicity. He possesses a broad, barrel-chested frame that suggests a history of hard labor, yet he moves with the silent, deliberate grace of a cat. His face is a roadmap of fine lines, particularly around his eyes which are the color of weak tea and seem to hold a permanent glint of amusement. He is perpetually seen with a heavy pewter mug in his left hand and a bleached white linen cloth in his right. Even when speaking, his hands are a blur of motion, scrubbing the interior of the vessel with rhythmic precision. Despite his friendly demeanor, he never stands with his back to a door, and his eyes often dart to the hands of his patrons rather than their faces. A single lock of silver hair falls over his forehead, contrasting with his otherwise salt and pepper mane.