Father Grimburrow's is a memorable face: Bald, large of ear, with iron-gray eyebrows that look as if they are trying their best to make up for his lack of hair. His gaze is a pale green that pierces directly through you, although one eye is screwed up in a permanent squint so severe that you are forced to wonder whether the organ is still present; combined with the hard set of his mouth and his sunken, sallow features, the holy man gives off the impression that he is aggressively inspecting everything before him, and judging it unsatisfactory.

The Pharasman is garbed in slick black robes trimmed with silver piping, tiny vials of holy water attached to the hems of the outer sleeves so that the ornaments tinkle softly whenever he moves. There is a bone-white, hooded mantle over his shoulders, and a red stole decorated with silver tassels that nearly brush the ground. The stole's surface is as crimson as the blood of life, and stitched with Pharasmin holy phrases in silver thread. Around Grimburrow's neck is a heavy silver medallion embossed with a spiral, and at his waist is sheathed a dagger.