Rulen Marr looks carved out of bad weather and long responsibility. He is broad-shouldered in a way that suggests endurance rather than strength, with a soldier's straight back that never fully relaxes, even when seated. His skin is windburned and salt-flecked, his hands thick with old scars and cracked calluses. He keeps his dark hair cut short at the sides, though the top is threaded with iron-gray and usually flattened by rain or helmet wear. One eyebrow is split by a narrow white scar, and his left ear is slightly missing at the tip. The strangest thing about him is that he wears a small, carefully polished brass bird brooch on his cloak, an almost delicate ornament against his otherwise battered gate-master's gear. He moves with deliberate economy, as if every step should have a purpose, but his eyes are always in motion, counting exits, faces, and distances.