Gethin Kettig is a tall tiefling with wine-red skin that looks almost black in candlelight, as though soot has settled beneath the surface. His horns sweep backward in uneven ridges, one polished smooth by years of nervous touching while the other remains chipped near the tip. His black hair is cut close at the sides and tied at the nape with red thread. He moves with the measured economy of a fencer, never wasting a step, yet his long tail betrays every emotion by tapping, coiling, or lashing behind him. He leaves an impression of immaculate control undermined by the faint smell of burnt sugar and the constant glint of sleeplessness beneath his eyes. The unexpected contradiction is his hands: callused and scarred like a dockworker's, despite his aristocratic dress.