Pippin stands just under three feet tall, with a wiry frame that suggests a coiled spring. His movements are unsettlingly silent and economical, as if he is trying to conserve every calorie. His skin is the color of weathered parchment, stretched tight over high cheekbones. Most striking are his hands; they are exceptionally long-fingered and constantly in motion, either cleaning a small silver coin or checking the tension on his crossbow string. Despite his gritty surroundings in the undervaults, he carries a distinct, contradictory scent of expensive, floral jasmine perfume that precedes him by several paces.