Tall, muscular, and perpetually disgruntled. Korren moves like a coiled wire—heavy-footed when he wants to be, cat-quiet when he must. His black hair is unkempt in a way that suggests long days without proper rest rather than a rebellious style; a short, uneven beard darkens his jaw. He favors patched leathers that hug his shoulders and chest, layered to hide blades; the inside of his left forearm shows a messy series of stitched scars and faded ink: a child's handprint drawn at an angle. When idle he chews the inside of his lip until a faint white mark appears on his lower lip. Unexpected detail: he keeps a tiny porcelain bird tied to his belt on a length of red string—a fragile, out-of-place thing among knives and pouches.