Gorhun moves like a man who has learned to make every motion count. He wears a lopsided grin when pleased and a stone-set frown when business calls. His thick forearms are veined and scarred; each scar tells of a contract kept. He favors one shoulder, slightly lower from an old sheath wound, and walks with a measured, almost ceremonial gait as if marking time. Unexpectedly, he keeps a small patch of wildflowers braided into his beard—bright blue cornflowers that seem at odds with the iron and leather around him. His armor is well-cared-for but clearly repaired many times with differing metals and stitched leather patches, giving it a patchwork dignity rather than neglect.