A tall, broad-shouldered firbolg with dusky blue-gray skin that has the soft, matte texture of river clay. His hands are unusually delicate at the wrists but heavily callused across the fingertips from decades of carving reed flutes, with tiny pale splinters permanently embedded beneath several nails. He moves with the slow courtesy of someone making room for invisible guests, yet can cross a room in a sudden, startling rush when frightened or angry. His beard is braided with seed husks and copper wire, while his hair falls in thick moss-colored ropes around his shoulders. The contradictory impression he leaves is of immense strength restrained by almost ceremonial gentleness, as though a patient gardener happens to possess the body of a siege engine.