Alexander's walk is measured, each step placed with care and thought as if each footfall is a step in a dance to a song only he can hear.  His voice is deep, but not booming. His voice can be heard in the biggest of halls or over the din of battle, in quite company his voice is soft .  He sounds like he's from here, wherever here may be.  He may not be able to speak the tongue, but his common will slowly start to take on the lilt of those around him, otherwise he has no accent.  His eyes are the dark green of uncut emeralds and they survey everything around him as if he wants to remember every detail.  He stands a bit over six foot and his hair is a light brown in the summer and darkens in the winter. His fingers  have calluses from years of plucking strings and gripping quills.  He keeps his gear in good condition, though his instruments will always be in better shape than his adventuring kit.  A large black leather bound tome is almost always out and open if he's sitting down. His inks and quills next to it as he writes and draws, adding to his story.  His build is lithe, though there is a quite strength and power in his arms and back.  Most days he can found singing or asking those around them for their story.