Kaelir moves like a shadow given purpose: quick, economical motions, as if every step has been practiced to the point of silence. He favors a half-smile that never reaches both eyes at once. His left ear bears a narrow, ragged notch that carved through both flesh and a former name; his right wrist is wrapped in a faded leather cuff threaded with tiny iron beads that clink faintly when he's excited. A small, hand-stitched child's cloth — a miniature sailor's scarf — peeks from the inside of his coat pocket, incongruous and tender against his otherwise hard-edged presentation. When standing still he leans slightly forward, ready to move; when seated he tends to curl one leg under him like a cat. Unexpectedly, he hums an old lullaby when nervous, a soft human tune from his childhood that sits oddly against his careful, urbane face.