Tall and willowy, he moves with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who has rehearsed stillness. His skin has a faint silver wash under moonlight. Long hair is braided into a single rope that falls to his mid-back, threaded with tiny bronze bells that never jingle when he wants them to. He wears a layered cassock of pale mauve embroidered with small runes of warding along the hems. Over that he keeps a rubbed brass breastplate polished to a soft glow, and an off-center stole pinned diagonally across his chest. Unexpectedly, his left forearm is tattooed with crude merchant tally marks in black ink that look centuries old and refuse to fade. When he walks, dust never clings to his robes, and a faint scent of orange blossom follows him.