Vane is a tall, unnervingly thin man with the posture of a waiting predator. His skin is the color of old parchment and feels cold to the touch. He moves with a liquid, soundless grace that suggests he weighs nothing at all. He wears a heavy leather apron over dark robes, both stained with dried, blackened fluids that never seem to flake. His hands are perpetually gloved in thin, translucent membrane that allows him to feel a pulse through the fabric. Paradoxically, despite his grim role, his face is always cleanly shaven and his breath smells faintly of sweet lavender, a sharp contrast to the metallic scent of blood that follows him.