The face of Barangollach was calm as the sea before a storm and graven into his marble features was the sorrow of yore. His eyes were grey as the morning mists upon a mountain peak, and in them was a light like unto the reflection of stars upon a silent lake.

His hair was the colour of polished jet with streaks of grey and white and upon his brow was set a circlet of amber elf-stones embellished with braids wrought in the likeness of the golden-belled flower Alfirin.

White was his raiment like to the walls of  Ondolindë   of old. And ever was it kept in good repair, polished and keen for strife and warfare. When he spoke, his voice was strong and deep like to the low rumbling of a mighty waterfall.

Grim and terrible he appeared yet splendid like a king crowned with many winters; a silent guardian of ancient history.