Corcarius is a broad, elderly man with a polished bald crown and a dense grey beard cut square at the jaw. His face is heavy and composed, but his mouth gives him away: his lower incisors are worn almost flat from decades of chewing bitter fennel seeds, and he shows them in a sudden wolfish grin whenever he laughs. He moves slowly only when being watched, favoring deliberate pauses and the careful placement of his cane. When surprised, he becomes startlingly quick, turning with the balance of a much younger duelist. His hands are soft from privilege but marked by dark ink beneath the nails. He smells faintly of cedar oil, red wine, and iron. The unexpected contradiction is that his intimidating, statue-like presence is paired with an almost fussy habit of smoothing crumbs from other people's sleeves.