Maristh moves like someone used to balancing on wet planks: economical, sure-footed, a little cocked to compensate for unsteady decks. He is usually smeared with a mix of pitch and ink; the pitch forms thin black filigree along the creases of his knuckles. His left forearm is sheathed in a lattice of carved, silvered wire beneath his sleeve — a protective brace and a focus for his binding rites. His right eye is a glassy blue-green 'stormglass' replacement, faintly veined with gold, that catches light like sea-water. Unexpectedly, fine white barnacle-like growths cluster under his jaw and behind his ear — harmless but oddly preserved, like a keepsake tide. When he walks, he hums low, half-memorized shanties that stop mid-line whenever someone watches him.