Rhollan moves like someone who has spent a life balancing on ropes and ship rails: steady, quiet, deceptively relaxed. He wears a patched leather coat whose collar is studded with tiny silverfish scales taken from a strange lanterned fish he once rescued; the scales still glint blue-green when he turns. His left hand bears a faint network of faded runic scars that faintly pulse when he speaks his patron's name. He favors a wide-brimmed hat with one torn corner and a length of sea-blue scarf knotted over his shoulder like a sash. When he smiles, it is a small, half-elf smile that rarely reaches his eyes — except when a child runs up to him, when his whole face opens. Unexpectedly, his gait is slightly limping on the right, but he moves faster than the limp suggests when danger appears.