Father Jorin moves like water shaped into a man. His grey robes are linen worn soft by river mists and frequent washing. The hems are embroidered with a repeating motif of a single broken reed sewn in silver thread. He keeps one sleeve slightly shorter than the other so his left forearm, where several thin white scars ripple like healed fish gills, is always exposed. His hands are wide and callused, often from helping towsfolk with river related tasks.. When he walks he pauses often, as if listening for currents beneath the cobblestones. Unexpectedly, beneath his humble robes he wears a narrow breastplate hidden beneath a broad sash; the sash is patterned with tiny blue droplets that seem to catch the light when he gestures.