Thalric moves with the deliberate grace of a scholar used to dusty tomes rather than battlefields. His tall, lean frame is draped in a sharply pressed dark indigo robe embroidered with faint silver glyphs of Oghma’s symbol winding like delicate circuitry down the sleeves. His face is gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a jaw often clenched in thought, but there’s a surprising softness in his gaze. His eyes, a pale gray flecked like storm clouds, seem capable of piercing through both lies and illusions. Contrasting with his austere visage is a shock of vivid auburn hair, pulled back loosely but stubbornly refusing to lie flat—sometimes giving him the air of a distracted artist rather than a studious cleric. When he walks, the faint clink of small chains and charms hanging from his belt punctuates his slow, purposeful steps, an oddly musical accompaniment to his austere presence.