Alaric is a man built like an old oak, gnarled but unbreakable. His face is a roadmap of scars, with a particularly deep one crossing the bridge of his nose. He moves with a heavy, deliberate gait that suggests chronic joint pain, yet his hands remain steady. Despite his grim profession, he is meticulously clean; his armor, though dented and mismatched, is scrubbed free of rust. Paradoxically, he carries a small, delicate silk handkerchief embroidered with wildflowers that he uses to wipe sweat from his brow.