Talrek is a tall, broad-shouldered tiefling whose presence fills a doorway before he says a word. His dark umber skin has a dry, weathered texture like fired clay, crossed by pale old marks from manacles, rope burns, and years of marching beneath highland sun. One horn rises in a long swept arc, ridged and polished by habit. The other is broken above the brow, not jagged but worn smooth, as though he has spent years touching the blunt end when thinking. His hands are the first thing most people notice: thick-knuckled, scarred across the palms, and permanently darkened beneath the nails by forge soot and old blood. His teeth are unusually square, with two blunt lower canines showing when he smiles. He moves with the quiet care of someone accustomed to carrying sleeping fugitives, yet when violence begins he crosses ground with startling speed. The contradiction is that his immense, martial body is paired with the delicate habit of handling cups, books, and frightened children as though they might shatter.