Verrin is a compact deep gnome with the weathered look of someone who has spent decades underground and still refuses to let the dark claim him. His skin is the color of old parchment stained with coal dust, and it has a faint mineral sheen near the knuckles, as if his hands have slowly turned to polished slate from years of work. His hair is iron gray, cut in a severe bowl that never quite stays neat, with one rebellious forelock always escaping over his brow. One eye is pale amber and sharp as a struck match, while the other is clouded silver from an old injury, yet he notices almost everything anyway. He wears a charcoal coat lined in faded vermilion silk, practical boots, and a ridiculous belt of tiny brass bells he has silenced with wax. The unexpected detail is that he smells faintly of rosewater and lamp oil, a soft, almost courtly scent that clashes with his soot-streaked life. He moves like a cautious mason and a guilty cat at the same time, careful in every step until some memory startles him into a sudden, elegant burst of speed.