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Kenemir is too old to have any illusions about his place in the world. He has outlived his wife, his children, and his family who have fallen to the ills of poverty and time; his closest brush with wealth and prestige came with the patronage of a Tyde noble. That ended with the rebellion, and it's taken him some time to work himself out from beneath the shadow of association. He has built his craft slowly, steadily across the decades of his life, and seeks now to leave behind a legacy.

Silvered dark hair is pushed back from a high brow to reveal dark eyes set beneath thick eyebrows. He looks almost a scholar at first glance, but there's surprising strength in his lean frame despite his age, and his hands are still dextrous, still strong. A scruff of dark hair covers his jaw and face, just on the edge of tipping more toward salt than pepper.

Kenemir is taciturn, gruff, and stern, but in a way that leaves perfectly obvious that he does ridiculous things like leave milk out for stray cats and sends mice and bugs outside rather than kill them. He can be impatient with people, but is capable of unrelenting focus in his craft. He is not charming, but he has a compelling force of personality.