Joren is a broad-shouldered human built like a field axe and weathered like an old fence post, all hard angles softened by patience. His sun-browned skin is cut with pale claw scars across both forearms and one old burn mark at the jawline, as if fire once came close and failed to finish the job. His dark blond hair is usually tied back with twine taken from patrol markers, but the tie is never tight enough to keep a few strands from dropping across his brow. His deep forest-green eyes are steady and watchful, yet when he walks the outer wards at dusk they take on a faint, uncanny sheen, like pond water reflecting moonlight from below. He wears reinforced leather patched with drake hide, an ash-gray hunter's cloak, and a utility belt of pruning knives, chalk, and talismans. The unexpected thing about him is the neat white gardener's apron folded and hidden beneath his coat, embroidered with tiny flowers by hand. He smells faintly of wet cedar, oiled steel, and crushed mint.