Stocky, weathered innkeeper with a permanently flour-dusted cuff and a forearmscar faintly puckered from old burns. He moves with a practical economy—short, sure steps and hands that never stop working. His beard is kept trimmed, though a single long white whisker is braided and tucked behind his ear like a forgotten promise. He habitually props one hip against the bar and leans forward when telling a story, eyes narrowing into crinkles that suggest both mischief and fatigue. Unexpectedly, his left kneecap bears an ornately carved iron ring—an heirloom hinged cap that clicks when he kneels, a petty relic of a debt repaid long ago.