Vaelen moves with a grace that seems fluid and deliberate, almost as if he blends into his surroundings rather than walking through them. His alabaster skin contrasts sharply with his dark, shoulder-length hair, which is streaked unevenly with silver—a mark forged from a near-fatal magical curse rather than natural aging. His deep violet eyes gleam with a sharp cunning, and a thin scar traces from the left corner of his mouth down to his jawline, often hidden by his almost permanent wry smirk. He wears layered, close-fitting leather garments, embroidered subtly with arcane patterns that shimmer faintly in moonlight, but oddly he always smells faintly of fresh pine and candle wax, a contradiction to his urban, shadowy profession.