Oskari Tavil is a broad-shouldered human with the compact, weathered strength of someone who has spent more time carrying wounded people than polishing weapons. His movements are economical and quiet, with a slight forward lean that makes him seem perpetually ready to catch a falling child or intercept a fleeing criminal. His face is square, sun-browned, and marked by a pale scar that runs from the left corner of his mouth to his jaw. One eyebrow is permanently raised from an old knife wound, giving him an expression of skeptical amusement even when he is furious. He wears his authority plainly, but an unexpected softness follows him everywhere: tiny blue glass beads are sewn into the lining of his cloak, and he smells faintly of boiled juniper, wool, and sweet milk.