A charming fellow! Maybe not. Perceptions, and such.

He stands six foot tall, exactly.
He weighs approximately one hundered and eighty pounds, muscular if on the lean side, rather then a beef-cake.
His hair is BROWN hair colored hair.
His eyes are a brilliant green.

HE IS:

Verrigan Macallistor! A miscreant, a rogue, a misanthrope, and not the most terrible of sorts.

An easy going smile would oft grace his handsome face, an air of casual interest tending to radiate from him as he steps in wide, easy bounds, his hands often tucked 'pon belt or in pockets, his posture firm yet relaxed. Verrigan would appear at anytime to be completely comfortable with where he was and whom he was with.

His build? A handsome one, if you dn't like extremes, one would call it a surfers body in a place surfing had been invented, well kept but not excelling in any particular place, he stood tall enough with a baring that would put one to mind of a soldier at ease. His voice was a pleasent, deep rumble, the kind of voice that calls to song or command, though he doesn't seem at a glance particularly inclined to either.

His garb is clean enough, he's often seen with a stout quarter-staff at his side.

He quite enjoy's women. His interest in men? Not so much, even manly ladies, unless htey trick him. He particularly enjoys delicate little slips and soft weak full figured ladies, women whom are quite womanly, whom appreciate what a strong man can do with them and aren't going to fight this, other then token resistance of course. He likes to talk, he likes lore, he's partial to skullduggary but finds animal-heads to be confusingly odd. He likes to write bio's that are in a very weird tense.