Dargo is a lean, weather-cut human with a narrow face, a broken nose, and a smile that arrives before his eyes do. His skin is browned by salt and sun, but pale scars ladder his throat and disappear beneath his collar. He moves with the buoyant balance of a sailor on a storm-tossed deck, knees loose and shoulders rolling, even on solid ground. His black hair is braided with tarnished silver wire and smells faintly of lamp oil and seaweed. He dresses like a captain performing for an audience, yet his boots are patched, his cuffs frayed, and his fingernails permanently stained with pitch. The contradiction unsettles people most: he looks flamboyant from a distance, but up close he carries the exhausted stillness of someone who has not slept safely in years.