A relatively tall man, Calaunt seems to have trouble paying attention- his eyes wander slowly and dreamily across the world around him, and his hands move constantly: rolling and rerolling scraps of smoking paper, or bending thin bits of metal. His sweeping eyes are a deep brown that stand around against the almost ethereal grey of his face. The hair he pushes from his eyes is almost white, itself seemingly stained grey in places. From his hair and the state of his clothes- dusted with ash and smelling faintly of one burning wood or another- one could almost believe he had stepped out of a burning building just moments before.
