A hulking, broad-shouldered man who smells faintly of peat and citrus—an oddity he cultivates. His skin carries the dull sheen of river silt in places, as if he never quite washes some long-held ritual grime away. He wears a patchwork of rough leather and woven reed matting, but tucked under his belt is always a small, immaculate linen handkerchief folded into a triple star; he uses it to polish brass quickly, then stuffs it back into the same grime-streaked pocket. When he walks he lumbers like a boat pushed by a current, slow and inevitable, yet when angered he moves with the sudden, splintering force of a falling tree.