Handsomer than his job warrants; motions economical and precise. Gilex moves as if every surface underfoot is an ally and a threat at once. His brown leather upper armor is meticulously oiled, scuffed only along left ribs where a narrow crescent scar presses the leather inward. He wears a loose white shirt beneath the armor, sleeves rolled to the elbow, that always looks freshly laundered even after stakeouts. Tight dark trousers cling close, letting him pivot and slide without sound. He keeps a short sword at his hip in a plain scabbard and a set of throwing knives hidden in a cuff. Unexpectedly, he wears a small silver child's ribbon braided into his goatee, faded blue, an odd softness beneath the otherwise sharp, professional presentation.