Kavruk moves like an avalanche with purpose: ponderous until he decides otherwise, then startlingly quick. He stands with a weathered leather strap slung across one shoulder and his favored maul resting on his shoulder like a walking staff. His skin has the pitted, lichen-scarred texture of high-mountain rock, and shallow white ritual scars run in parallel from his chin down his sternum; the scars pick up light and look almost like river veins. His shoulders are fringed with a mane of coarse, ash-streaked hair that he often ties back with braided cords taken from defeated opponents. When he laughs it is a low rumble that reveals two chipped teeth; when he is watching, his head tilts slightly to the left as if listening to some distant echo. Contradictorily, he is meticulous about the polish of his combat stones (flat stones embedded in his belt) and will pause mid-conversation to rub them until they gleam.