The elf is a study in apparent contradictions. The strength of youth and yet the wisdom of age rest upon his brow. His bluish grey eyes like pools holding memories beyond the ken of mortal men. He seems to fill whatever room he enters: tall, noble and with no small amount of gravitas, and yet he will often sit or stand quietly watching. His hands, strong yet nimble, have both brought death in battle and life in healing.

His presence is not merely physical but, for those who are aware of such things, spiritual as well. He is not himself one of the Calaquendi, he has never walked in the Undying West or seen the light of the Two Trees. And yet perhaps some share of that power has been passed on to him, from father to son. He is not outwardly threatening and yet you easily get the impression that this is not someone you wish to make an enemy of. For all his seriousness; he is often seen smiling or laughing, taking great joy in the ordinary things of life.