Thalorin moves like someone who learned to read both a ledger and a rooftile. He favors a constant half-smile that suggests amusement or calculation (sometimes both). His face is narrow and sun-softened with a long pale scar running from the left jawline to the earlobe — a souvenir from a cargo dispute gone sharp. He keeps a trimmed, uneven beard that he strokes when thinking. His left ear bears three small silver cuffs; his right ear has an ornate brass hoop wrapped with a single green feather. When he walks he rocks on the balls of his feet and often tilts his head as if listening to a far-away sea; yet when he stands still he very deliberately squares his shoulders as if willing himself invisible. Contradiction: despite a carefree smile and jaunty movements, his hands are always stained with coal dust or ink as if he alternates between clerkly work and messy labor without notice.