Mareko Dzigwe is a long-limbed half-elf with the compact, weathered strength of a man who has spent more years hauling rope than lifting weights. His face is brown and wind-scoured, with a pale scar running from the corner of his left eye to the hinge of his jaw. His ears taper subtly, though one has been torn nearly flat by an old ice fall. He moves with careful economy, placing each foot as if the floor might suddenly become a ledge. His hands are broad, callused, and permanently darkened around the nails by oil, ash, and old blood. His sharp gaze makes people feel measured for structural weakness. The unexpected contradiction is his hair, which is kept in a soft, carefully combed silver puff above his ears, giving him the fleeting appearance of a gentle schoolmaster until he speaks.