As the others enter the room, the half elf bows deeply.
"Greetings to you all. I am so glad that you are able to join me. My name is Gray. How do you do?"
His speech is a little overly formal, and it is obvious (even with this thick old Allarian accent) that he is not used to speaking with people.
He has a short, tight hairstyle of spiked, dark gray hair, and his skin is darkened from the many hours he spends in the sun. He wears loose-fitting clothing the color of dust beneath a simple rust-colored vest that leaves his well-toned arms exposed. Around his neck, on a hide string, hangs a ring of steel and obsidian. Dwarven runes that say "Fàsach Cruach Anail" circulate around the ring. Translated, the runes say "Desert Wind". Strips of cloth are tightly wrapped around Gray's wrists, hands, and ankles, protecting his hands keeping the cuffs of his pants out of his way, allowing for maneuverability (not to mention a snazzy billowed look to his pants).
As he walks back to his seat, his movements are some of the most graceful you have encountered. His steps are not the measured steps of a soldier who had marched in formation for hours upon hours, but a smooth extension that seems to pull him forward without a bit of wasted movement.
After everyone has entered the room, he motions for everyone to sit with him upon the ground where an assortment of pillows lay atop a section of carpet large enough that the circle of pillows would allow for comfortable seating.
"Please, tell me all about your trip getting here. My travel was calm, but by the looks of you, I am guessing you will have a much better tale than I will."