Korvyn cuts an imposing figure: a mountain of a man, standing head and shoulders above most, with a jagged, weatherworn visage and broad, slab-like shoulders. His skin is leathery and wind-scarred from years in harsh mountain climates. His thick, rust-brown hair is tied in dozens of thin braids, adorned with bone beads and small copper charms. His left eye is missing, replaced by a pale, polished stone, and the scarring around his jaw pulls his mouth into a lopsided, near-permanent scowl. Yet paradoxically, his hands reveal surprising gentleness – he treats small objects with tenderness and rarely clenches his fists. He moves with leonine deliberation, surprisingly quiet for his size, and tends to remain absolutely still when unengaged, as if blending into the terrain.