Merik Jorth is a broad-shouldered Jorthiel man who stands with the stubborn stillness of a bridge pier, as if the river itself had decided to wear boots. His skin is weathered to a river-stone brown, his black hair kept in a severe braid threaded with a single silver bead, and his gray eyes miss almost nothing. His beard is trimmed close, but one side is permanently singed from an old lantern fire, giving him a strangely unfinished look for someone so meticulous. He wears his chain shirt under a clean blue-gray guard coat, polished to a dull practical sheen rather than a showy shine. Everything about him says discipline, except the tiny embroidered marigold on his cuff, a quiet tribute to a dead younger sister who used to sneak him sweets during winter watch.