Abellard Cotillion appears to be a human male 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.

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 ice-blue 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.

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 of the man.

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.))