A slender drow with a shock of silver hair kept short on one side and falling into a loose braid on the other. His skin is the deep, burnished charcoal common to surface drow, but it is mottled with faint, pale scars that shimmer slightly when he moves. His left eye pulses a slow, living violet like a dim lantern under water, its iris banded with a faint lattice of black veins. His right eye is clouded, white and motionless; he keeps it covered by a narrow leather patch lined with a ring of runic silver wire. His cloak is many-layered, cut to swallow sound and catch moonlight: the inner lining is a dull purple, the outside a moss-grey; the edges are deliberately frayed and scented with resin to mask his trail. He moves in economy of motion, like a predator conserving energy, yet his fingers never stop tracing the outline of the bowstring or adjusting the runes on his bracers. Unexpectedly, he wears a childlike charm of carved bone on a cord under his tunic, rubbed smooth by decades of unseen fiddling.