When he is seen, which is typically when he wishes to be, Belwar is a solid albeit diminutive figure, with a broad nose and a pot belly - from where, he claims, his nimbleness and stealth come from. Like all his svnirfneblin kin, he is hairless and sinewy, his skin like granite and his eyes like flakes of basalt. He stands waist-high of a man, belly-height on an elf perhaps and heavier in his proportions than his rock and forest cousins. He is quiet and still, watching, until he needs to move: then, he is more like quicksilver, belying the belly. On one finger he wears a white gold signet ring, the face a teal chalcedony gem carved with his house sigil.

In the mountains, trail or pass, when he finds you it will be appearing closer than you think - a sudden shift in rocks or the boreal. If you see him, it will be wrapped in leather and a cloak of many hues, a pair of sturdy blades at his waist and a crossbow slipped discretely beneath his cloak. His hood will be up, his voice soft and untrusting. At his side, his wolf mount - one of the Chalcedony-bred wolves, all drak grays with a white ruff

In the halls of the elves, he wears a mask - hiding his distrust enough for politeness - and the brocades and silks his position expects. Lace collars and cuffs on white shirts, contained with black embroidered waistcoats and trous and fine boots. He is watchful and wary, the dangers less clear.

In the warrens of Zwillingsbau, deep in the eastern spur of the Dunkelbergen, few have seen