A strong man whose broad chest and bulky shoulders are still apparent even when wearing his plate armor. He's tall enough he has to duck under smaller door frames. His hands and feet are rough and almost leather-like in callouses from his years of hardship and fighting. He has close cropped dark  hair and dull brown eyes. He has a set of three scars across his face from one of his mercenary ventures. He is not handsome in any classical sense, rather gushing in unadultered testosterone instead. His voice is deep, and he usually grumbles rather than speaks with resoluteness and confidence.

For the past fifteen or so years of his life, he was a soldier. Then he became a mercenary, travelling and offering his services to anyone with large enough sacks of gold. He is flexible however, and is willing to accept alternate forms of... payment.

Whatever his payment, him and his sword have long been stained with the kind of blood that doesn't wash off. He's seen a lot of things, done a lot of things, and killed a lot of things. Self-preservation is important to Mard Getz. He's a tad cynic, yet he soldiers on until he gets bored or dead. He is also easily entertained by carnal desires and pleasures. A good fuck isn't something to be ignored.