Branthor moves with deliberate, measured grace; a towering firbolg with mottled ash-gray skin marked by faint moss-like patterns that shimmer subtly in lamplight. His eyes are an unnatural amber gold, luminous and piercing, often betraying a deep internal calm despite the tension around him. His long, coarse hair resembles intertwined roots and is braided tightly to one side, wrapped with dark blue cords that bear the emblem of the city guard. His leather armor is immaculate, dark green with silver trims, appearing almost organic as if grown rather than crafted. The unexpected element is a small carved wooden flute tucked into his belt, worn and cracked but clearly cherished, an odd softness to his otherwise stern presence.