A broad-shouldered dragonborn with scales like burnished bronze that catch the tavern torchlight and make him seem briefly gilded. His snout is nicked from a bar fight long ago; one small white scar runs across the left nostril like a pale lightning bolt. He moves with the slow efficiency of someone used to long shifts: elbows tucked in, feet placed to brace for a shove. On his left forearm a faded tattoo of two interlaced rings peeks from beneath his sleeve, the ink cracked at the edges. His apron is patched in different shades of leather and cloth, smelling faintly of ale, citrus, and lemon oil. Unexpectedly, he keeps a single yellow silk handkerchief stitched to the inside of his vest collar; he never uses it for sweat but refolds it precisely at the end of every night.