Silas is a tall, gaunt Tiefling with skin the color of cold woodsmoke and eyes that burn like dying coals behind spectacles of smoked glass. His horns are polished obsidian, curving back over his head like the handles of a casket. He moves with a disturbing, fluid grace that suggests he has too many joints, and he consistently leaves a faint scent of formaldehyde and expensive pipe tobacco in his wake. His most contradictory feature is his hands: though his claws are sharp and intimidating, he handles fragile artifacts with the tenderness of a mother cradling a newborn.