Karth carries the worn grace of a man long acquainted with the sea’s fickle mood. His skin is weathered bronze, mapped with faint white scars from old rope burns and salt-splashed storms. His dark chestnut hair is streaked prematurely with silver, usually tied back in a loose, low knot that sways unevenly when he moves. His eyes, a piercing storm-gray, hold a careful, calculating calm—like a sea ready to churn beneath still glass. His movements are measured and economical: he walks with the steady patience of a man who prefers observation over rush, yet when urgency comes, there’s a surprising speed and precision in his motions. Contradicting his rugged seafarer bearing, Karth always wears a finely embroidered silk scarf around his neck, a memento from his late wife, giving an almost delicate flair to his otherwise pragmatic and unpretentious outfit.