Joseph comes in and closes the door behind him.
Up close, he looks young for the role a Deepwarden man usually carries. Early twenties, maybe. Blond hair falls in a careless mess over his forehead, his eyes are pale and alert, and there's a lightness in his face that fits someone used to crossing ancient ruins out of curiosity better than someone in charge of the most powerful guild in Thirstfall.
His build follows the same impression. Athletic, no unnecessary bulk, protected by a short jacket of pale leather with gold detailing and flexible pieces that leave his arms and legs free.
The exception is the left arm.
A gauntlet of gold metal covers the hand and runs up near the elbow. The plates overlap in thin segments, following every movement of the fingers. On the back, a blue core gives off its own light, connected by small runic lines that flare along the joints whenever Joseph moves his hand.
That doesn't look like protection.
It's a weapon wearing the shape of protection.
