Kaelorn looks like a living sunbeam: a broad-chested centaur whose equine half is a glossy chestnut with a single streak of soot-dark hair running down his flank, as if a spark once kissed him and lingered. His humanoid torso is handsome in a blunt, simple way — high cheekbones, a square jaw softened by a perpetual, slow grin, and a mane of hair braided with tiny bells and a single braided silver thread. He wears a battered silver circlet oddly refined against the rustic look of his herd-lands, and a faded floral garland hangs at his hip from festivals past. He moves with a confident, rolling gait that can become unexpectedly light and quick when he wants to be; sometimes he overbalances into exuberant little dances and almost trips over his own hooves. The impression he leaves is of safe strength and warm sunlight, but with one odd contradiction: his hands are always slightly smudged with ash as if he works at a forge, while his braided hair smells faintly of wildflowers.