Eldren moves with an odd mix of graceful urgency and cautious hesitation, like a stray cat torn between fleeing and hiding. His clothes are dusty and torn along the edges, stained with the grime of travel, but one finely embroidered cuff remains pristine — a remnant of his merchant life. His face is lean and sharp, with dark, tousled hair perpetually falling into his stormy gray eyes that sometimes flicker with a flicker of haunted guilt. A faint, jagged scar curves from just below his left ear down to his jawline, often hidden beneath a rumpled scarf. Despite being ragged from travel, he carries himself with a subtle dignity — his fingers nimble and always twitching nervously near his pockets or the hidden dagger at his belt. An unexpected contradiction shows in his hands: delicate, nearly aristocratic, yet calloused from years of packing crates and running from danger.