Small and wiry yet strikingly deliberate in posture. Slaark's skin is muddied with a permanent sheen of grime from the sanctuary's corrupted waters. He wears a crude wooden crown that sits slightly askew, carved with tiny rune-like scratches that mimic river currents. He favors a long tattered strip of blue cloth tied like a sash across his chest, an ironic nod to the drowned priest whose temple they seized. One unexpected element: when he moves, his left foot drags in a way that splashes a faint swirl of oily black water, though the ground around him remains dry. His movements are quick and economical, always measuring distance and angle as if avoiding invisible tripwires.