Thin and bowed like an old willow yet moving with a quick, deliberate grace. His skin hangs in translucent folds over knobby wrists but his hands are steady and precise. He wears a patched scholar's robe of deep indigo that seems almost to drink light; inside the robe hems are stitched with tiny silver sigils that shimmer when he speaks. Around his neck hangs a locket of smoked glass that contains a faded lock of hair and a pressed scrap of a letter. His right eye is clouded with a pale cataract; beneath it a faint blue tattoo curls like a stylized wave. Unexpectedly he smells faintly of sunbaked hay and clean linen, an earthy contradiction to his arcane scent.