Tholvin moves with a slow, deliberate cadence that feels like a perpetual funeral march. His skin is the color of wet clay, often dusted with fine white funerary powder. His silver hair is thick and wiry, braided with small, hand-painted porcelain skulls that clack softly when he moves. The most striking element is his left eye, which is clouded over and milky white, yet he seems to see more clearly with it than his good blue eye. His hands are perpetually stained with the dark oils of his trade, but his fingernails are kept obsessively clean.