A towering, muscled brute by anyone's standards, Maurin was one of those authentic, battle hardened and utterly uncompromising warriors from the sands of Port Saban. Every aspect of his person toned, taut and sculpted to endure and survive the harshness of the unforgiving desert to which he called home. The fellow was no beauty ; he didn't really need to be, in all honesty. His profession was war, beginning and end, and his frame showed just that.

Musclemass to spare, bulky, and bulging out from the tightly stretched and dark skin, he stood at an impressive height, well over six feet and counting. Hands caloused and rough from years of hard labor, with one weapon or another, from this campaign or that one. Marked with tattoos, to spare, they ranged from fanciful linework to the random pretty girl's half nude body, and stretched along his from his neck on down to the chap's broad chest, shoulders, biceps and forearms.