Abellard Cotillion is a human male who appears to be in his fifties. He stands at slightly above average in height, bears an average weight and sports a fit, honed build of lean muscle.

He carries himself in a distinguished, educated, perhaps noble, likely affluent sort of way. His words denote a clear understanding of the common tongue.

His garments are generally quite upscale yet martial, functional and utilitarian.

He often wears a somewhat unique fabric cap of an indiscernable style yet reminiscent of a hunter's garment adorned with an exotic yet somehow not overly obtrusive avian feather above the forehead.
Wrinkles, grey hairs, a dark tan and rough, calloused hands suggest a life that has known decidedly more than pampered, coddled opulence, despite his apparent wealth. Hardened dark brown eyes do little to discount that notion.

Handsome, perhaps, if you don't mind sun-weathered features born of good genes, a well-shaped nose at least once-broken, a deep dueling scar crossing the entirety of one cheek and a hawkish expression fraught with downturned eyebrows, lofted eyebrows, thin-lipped slight frowns, the occasional smirk, and even more prevalent than all of those... a calm expression of 'nothing,' (yet not the daft sort of nothing, as his eyes are far from dim...) indicative of a man whose mind's wheels constantly turn.

While he is not afraid to employ cunning, martial prowess and occasionally surprisingly imaginative ruthlessness that only a skewed moral compass could conjure, generally, he's quite agreeable to be around. Many leave his company with a positive impression ofthe man and would gladly treat with him again if given the chance.

The wolf in sheep's clothing is an overused cliche, however, in the case of Abellard Cotillion, the shoe fits, so to speak.

((Still a WIP and may be leveling for a while. Tell friendly.))