Balthazar moves like a man who has spent equal parts of his life at a lectern and clinging to cliffside ruins. He is lean and slightly stooped from years of hunching over manuscripts, but his movements are deliberate and birdlike when he gestures. His hands are ink-stained at the fingertips and have faint scars where quills and arcane reagents once slipped. He keeps a small carved chest strapped to his belt that rattles softly with a pocket sextant and a handful of feathered trinkets gifted by Aarakocra friends. Unexpectedly, he wears a lightweight woven winglet of colored threads over one shoulder, purely ornamental but embroidered with the map of Socara Island. That contradiction—scholar's modesty paired with a lover of the sky's ornaments—catches the eye.