Unlike most of the denizens of the land abound, Rhue enjoys wearing appropriate clothing, and does not take well to ... wierd shit.

Sullen, and pale, this young warrior seems hardly out of the confines of youth; perhaps 18 or 19 at best. Adorned with a proud scimitar upon the left of his waist, a veritable lute lies on the other.

His voice is squeeky and a'crackled; ebbing with inexperience, and is far from manly or intimidating.