Teskart Khetrag is a very old elf whose age shows less in frailty than in compression. He seems to have folded centuries inward, standing perfectly still until he moves with startling economy. His long white goatee is divided into three narrow braids, each bound with a different metal clasp: silver, mithril, and dull iron. His bushy white eyebrows nearly meet above a long, thoughtful nose. His hands are slim and heavily callused at the fingertips from turning pages, sharpening quills, and handling old bindings. He leans slightly forward when listening, as though the words have physical weight. Within a minute of meeting him, most people notice that he never quite settles his heels on the floor. He waits on the balls of his feet, ready to cross a room or flee a collapsing archive. The unexpected contradiction is that his ancient face carries an almost boyish delight whenever someone presents an obscure question, and he sometimes smiles broadly enough to look mischievous rather than venerable.