Zephyrin possesses skin the deep, bruised purple of a thunderhead. His hair is a shock of white that defies gravity, constantly drifting upward. His eyes are solid glowing white with no pupils. Despite his ethereal look, his hands are calloused and stained with airship grease. He moves with a fluid grace when climbing rigging, but on flat ground, he is surprisingly uncoordinated, often tripping over his own boots. A faint scent of ozone follows him wherever he goes.