Goret Nightfoot is a weather-worn half-orc with a face that looks as if it has been argued with by the sea and mostly lost. His left eye is a milky green from an old injury, while the right is sharp and watchful, always measuring exits. He carries himself with a slight sideways lean from old broken ribs that never healed perfectly, yet he moves with surprising lightness when he wants to. His hands are thick-knuckled and scarred, but his touch is careful, almost delicate, when he polishes glassware. The strangest thing about him is the immaculate white apron he insists on wearing under a coat stained with ale, salt, and soot, as if cleanliness is a private rebellion. He smells faintly of cinnamon, cheap rum, and lamp oil.