Dusky skin, well-scorched by Sun and beaten by rain over the years of his life, gives this grizzled-looking figure a nigh exotic look when combined with his raven hair. Clear-cut from warrior's stock, the man possesses above average height and a fine posture that offers an air of almost-regality to an otherwise wild visage.

His broad shoulders and thickly-corded limbs speak of a lifetime of hard graft, his scars sing plainly of his craft as either thug or man-at-arms, and his broken nose which has never been quite set correctly tells tales of drunken brawls and a carefree - or careless - life. There is rarely a blade not at his side, his belt or his back, and not always do those belong to him.

Then comes his voice; ragged and gruff, tempered by the parlance of one shaped by a shattered upbringing, though not often unkind when in reasonable company. Almost blatantly a heavy smoker, despite his middling age at best the habit has worn away at his vocal chords, lending him an altogether more intimidating voice than he might have otherwise had, despite its deep timbre.

And, lastly, his eyes. Though a vivid shade of light grey-blue, they are deep-set in their sockets under a low, almost neanderthal brow, and what attraction they might offer is often shaded and sullied by the otherwise brute features of the man.