Theobold Vane is a handsome, weather-polished human with the practiced shine of a man who lives under torchlight and never entirely leaves the stage. He wears deep navy velvet trimmed in pearl thread, but the cuffs are frayed from years of griping ledger pages and grabbing stunned fighters by the collar. His hair is black at the roots and silver at the temples, slicked back with sea-scented pomade that never quite hides the salt in it. He moves like a trained duelist who decided commerce was safer than swordplay, all smooth turns and measured steps, yet he keeps one shoulder subtly higher from an old injury. The unexpected contradiction is his smile, warm and almost fatherly, paired with a single ornate gold ear cuff shaped like a barnacle, a reminder that he can be as hard and sharp as the reef when cornered.