Kaelen Vance presents a towering and somewhat rigid figure, standing nearly seven feet tall. He is perpetually adorned in a gilded porcelain mask that depicts a serene, smiling nobleman, hiding every inch of his face. His movements are a bizarre mixture of stiff-legged strides and sudden, rhythmic wobbles that he dismisses as a localized gout. While his torso is wrapped in the finest Varisian silks of deep sapphire and gold, the lower half of his longcoat is perpetually caked in thick, wet Crossroads mud, as if he refuses to acknowledge the ground he walks on. His hands, encased in oversized velvet gloves, often twitch independently of his speech.