Valerius stands with a rigid, unnatural posture, as if his spine were replaced by a cold iron rod. His skin has a sickly, translucent quality like wet parchment, revealing a network of pulsing, obsidian veins creeping up from beneath his gorget. His left eye is a piercing, frost-blue that never seems to blink, while his right eye is a messy hollow of scar tissue and iron staples. Despite the grime of the siege, his plate armor is scrubbed clean, though the smell of rot and lavender oil clings to him heavily. He moves with a calculated slowness, masking a deep tremor in his limbs.