Derduth Whiterock is a stocky hill dwarf who looks built out of hearthstone and river clay, all broad chest, thick wrists, and a belly that suggests he has never once missed a meal he could afford. His fair skin is wind-chapped and freckled with tiny pale scars from years on the road, and his bright green eyes shine with the alert, appraising focus of a man who is always counting barrels, coin, and motives at the same time. A striking mane of fiery red hair is swept hard over one side of his head as if permanently pushed by a strong breeze, while his long braided beard, studded with polished brass rings, hangs with careful pride down to his belt. He wears good merchant's clothes that have clearly seen hundreds of miles, neat at a glance but reinforced at the cuffs, patched at the elbows, and scented faintly of leather, cedar, and clove oil. The unexpected detail is that he carries himself like a triumphant innkeeper despite his expensive boots being splattered with mud from the knees down.