He had the eyes of a Vandegaard, some light blue in hue almost fully eclipsed by a forest of golden flecks. They were burning, vivid eyes, set in otherwise regal features. Emveren was handsome to be sure, a strong jaw, expressive brows, and a slightly aquiline nose, and while at a standstill his visage seemed cool, he had a way of making it animated and warm, even welcoming.

Emveren's build was athletic and tall, broad-shouldered and with a generally unkempt head of platinum-blonde hair that he let grow somewhat long. He was clean-shaven, at worst allowing a few days' growth of stubble that echoed his hair's hues, but a scar along the line of his jaw interrupted its growth.

His voice was somewhat deeper than one might guess, belying his youthful features. His years were indeterminate, between his twenties and thirties, but he wielded a pleasant baritone with the sort of mastery that only came with schooling and practice. In general the man was polite, well-spoken, genteel, and engaging; everything one might want in a paragon of House Vandegaard's virtues.