Formerly a prize fighter and duelist Quintus has lived past his glory days. A drunken broken man dusky skined and lanky. He is a bit starved looking though mostly comes from nourishment of his choosing rather than not eating, those being mostly liquid form. Sunken cheeks, dark brown eyes, almsot black. Slicked back hair, a rough  cut goatee and a days worth of growth on his cheeks (most of the time anyway). He laughs and smiles easily none the less, but there's sort of a hollow melancholy reflected in it.

He bears house Drachmoor insignia these days, a weaponmaster for the lesser hourse.