Vaelithron moves with a feline grace, steps soundless like woven shadows. His skin is an almost metallic deep onyx with a subtle sheen under moonlight, contrasting sharply against strands of silver hair that fall unevenly—one side cropped close, the other cascading in delicate curls. His eyes glow a soft violet, unnerving yet mesmerizing, framed by intricate tattoos that trace from his high cheekbones down his neck—symbols of forgotten drow houses, partially faded but still sharp. Unexpectedly, he wears a delicate, weathered pendant of a sun, carved from bone, tucked beneath his cloak — a rare emblem in drow society signifying exile and remembrance. When still, Vaelithron exudes cold calculation, but his smirk occasionally betrays wit and mischief.