Inquisitor Verez Cohn is a narrow, meticulous figure with the stillness of a ledger and the menace of a closed door. Their skin has the waxy pallor of someone who works mostly by candlelight, but their hands are sun-browned and ink-stained, as if two different lives were stitched together. They move with controlled, gliding precision, yet their cloak is always slightly too large, giving the unsettling impression that the shadows around them are borrowing their shape. One eye is cloudy and silvered from an old burn, while the other is sharp and almost too bright, like a pinhead reflected in glass. They smell faintly of hot metal, bitter herbs, and rain on stone. The most striking contradiction is their voice and posture: they look like a priest of dread, but carry themselves with the impatient confidence of a stage magician who expects applause.