Theodore Vane is a tall human man who looks as though a storm once tried to erase him and failed. His robe layers are impeccably tailored but perpetually dusted with chalk, ash, and the pale metallic sheen of spell residue. His hands are ink-stained, long-fingered, and always moving, sketching invisible diagrams in the air even when he is listening. One eye is a clear gray, the other clouded with a faint white ring from an old magical burn, yet he sees with unsettling precision. He moves with the careful glide of a librarian and the sudden stop-start precision of a man counting exits. The strangest thing about him is a bright saffron scarf he wears even in summer, a cheerful ribbon of color against his otherwise severe black and slate clothing.