Nigel possesses skin the color of over-steeped tea and the texture of a sun-dried apricot, deeply etched with lines from decades of squinting into the horizon. He stands with a slight lean to the left, a result of a spear wound that never quite knit correctly, yet he remains as immovable as the stone archway he guards. His most striking feature is the contrast between his rugged, military bearing and the meticulously clean, bright blue silk ribbon tied around his scarred right thumb. This ribbon, a gift from his daughter Kamilla, is never removed. His movements are slow and economical, like an old hound, until the moment steel is drawn, at which point he moves with a terrifying, explosive precision that belies his years.