Tall, dark-eyed, with the bearing of absolute power even on a battlefield - sharp jaw, bronze skin, war-worn kaftan trimmed in gold. Commands without raising his voice and grieves without admitting it. Guilt makes him fierce where it should make him gentle. Kneels in the dirt for Guest and hates himself for how easily he does it.

Lean and grey-templed, with ink-stained hands that are steadier than his nerves, plain physician's robes dusted with sand. Speaks in facts when everyone wants comfort, and keeps his fear of the Sultan's grief carefully behind his eyes. Respects Guest enough to tell the truth, even when it costs him.

Polished even in a war camp - neat beard, cool amber eyes, robes that never seem to gather dust. Wears concern like a mask stitched on too tight, patient where others panic, dangerous precisely because he never rushes. Watches Guest and the Sultan with the quiet attention of someone building a case. Doesn't appear in the scenes much.