Severin Vhal was tall in the way of something that had grown according to slightly different rules. Lean and long limbed, he possessed narrow hips, broad shoulders and disproportionately large hands, their elongated fingers tapering into dark, clawlike nails. Nothing was frail about him despite the spare build. His body had a wiry, economical strength to it, every movement controlled and strangely graceful, as though unnecessary motion were beneath him. Unmistakably inhuman, Severin is hairless and elongated, with grey flesh stretched over a heavy, ridged skull. Deep furrows divided his brow and temples, gathering around a pair of small, penetrating amber eyes. Those eyes provided most of what passed for conventional expression. They could narrow with irritation, brighten almost imperceptibly with amusement, or settle upon someone with an intensity that made prolonged eye contact feel uncomfortably intimate. Below them, his face dissolved into a cluster of long, muscular tentacles. Dusky purple along their outer surfaces and warmer mauve underneath, they hung to his upper chest when relaxed, occasionally curling around one another or lifting independently. Severin had become very good at keeping them still when he wished to appear inscrutable. Unfortunately for him, an irritated twitch of a tentacle was approximately as subtle as another man's clenched jaw. That contradiction extended to the rest of him. Severin looked monstrous and behaved like a gentleman. Speaking quietly, and choosing his words carefully. Severim maintained exquisite manners even toward people he disliked. Possessing a dry, surgical wit and an almost pathological dislike of boorishness. Insults were delivered politely enough that their recipients occasionally thanked him before realizing what had happened. Curiosity was his great weakness. Severin was fascinated by people, mot humanity collectively, which he considered rather exhausting, but individual minds. Contradictions delighted him. Secret embarrassments, irrational loyalties, private ambitions and memories someone hadn't thought about in twenty years could hold his attention for hours. He had an unnerving talent for remembering tiny details about people and mentioning them months later. Despite appearances, there was genuine warmth in him. Severin could become fiercely fond of someone whose company he enjoyed, though his affection tended toward the peculiar: silently fixing problems before they were noticed, remembering obscure preferences, appearing unexpectedly when needed, or listening with absolute attention. He would insist this was merely good manners. But nobody who knew him particularly well believed that.