Slim and well-kept with a shopkeeper's quiet poise. He moves like someone used to arranging shelves and calming customers: precise, economical gestures. His skin and clothing are often dusted with faint glittering ash from the ritual powders he sells. He keeps one hand gloved in finely stitched black leather while the other is always bare and ink-stained from ledger work. Unexpectedly, he hums lullabies in a language no one in town recognizes when he thinks himself alone. In sunlight he looks almost harmless; in lamplight his eyes seem like two wells with carved runes at the rims.