Lean, weathered, and precise in motion. He moves like someone who once trained in courtly swordplay but long ago traded formality for practicality. His left forearm bears a lattice of faded arcane tattoos that glow faintly when he concentrates. He carries his longsword in a scabbard wrapped with a strip of blue-gray cloth taken from his father's sash. When idle he taps the sword's pommel twice in time with his breathing, a small rhythm that steadies him. Unexpected element: his left sleeve is always deliberately patched with cheerful, embroidered flowers, which clashes with his otherwise utilitarian gear and gives him an oddly domestic air.