Thadric is a lean half-elf with the controlled stillness of someone who has spent years standing over the sick and dying, listening more than speaking. He is a little under average height, with a narrow frame that looks almost fragile until he moves, at which point his careful grace reveals endurance and discipline. His skin is a soft, even cream, untouched by harsh sun, but his hands are marked by tiny scarlets from needle pricks, burns, and herb-thorns. His dark eyes are wide, alert, and strangely gentle, always in motion as if he is reading the room for injuries, lies, and exits all at once. His black hair is cropped close and practical, but one silver streak runs through the left temple, unexpectedly bright against the rest. A thin silver circlet, dulled from long wear, rests on his brow like a halo that has survived rough travel. He dresses in an undyed healer's robe layered over a sturdy travel tunic, with linen bandages, herb pouches, and glass vials hanging from a worn leather belt. The contradiction that makes people remember him is that he looks almost delicate, yet carries himself like a person who has survived battlefield triage, winter roads, and impossible choices.