Vaelen possesses a lithe, almost bird-like grace. His movements are precise and economical, never wasting a gesture. His face is a map of sharp angles, dominated by a prosthetic left eye made of swirling cobalt glass that seems to track movement independently. He smells faintly of old parchment and expensive cloves. Despite his elegant tunics, he wears heavy, mud-stained boots that suggest he has just come from somewhere unpleasant.