Lean and small-boned with the fluid, quick posture of someone who has spent more time hunched over texts than training in the field. His skin is obsidian smooth and almost satiny under torchlight. He wears small, circular brass spectacles that catch reflections of candle flames and seem slightly scratched on the left lens in a starburst pattern. The lower half of his face is marked by a narrow, deliberate scar that reads like a sentence across his jaw. When he moves he sways as if testing every footfall for rhythm. Unexpectedly, he keeps one sleeve rolled nearly to the elbow revealing a faded cloth tattoo of an open book and a climbing spider that looks almost cheerful—an odd, almost playful contrast to his otherwise wary demeanor.