Korenn moves like a rope in wind: fluid, coiled, always ready to snap. His clothes smell faintly of brine and pipe smoke. He favors a long, oil-dark leather coat embroidered with a faded coral motif; beneath it is a waistcoat patched with maps and receipts. His left sleeve is intentionally shortened to reveal a forearm covered in pale, raised scars that map scars like a fishing net. He wears a narrow brass monocle with a sliding lens used to read star charts and tiny ledger numbers. When standing still he tilts slightly to one side, as if listening to the sea, yet his smile arrives quick and slightly crooked. Unexpectedly, despite his weatherworn face and practical gear, he keeps a single, immaculate white glove in his pocket which he brings out only for formalities or when handling delicate books.