Captain Leon Sandoval had the weather-worn skin of a sailor, set atop a naturally dusky Leonaran complexion. His face was lined more with worries than years, a salt-laced beard belying the fact that the man was idling in his third decade. Though tall, and very often clad in coats, he had a seafarer's athletic build. How he moved seemed more attuned to the rolling of the sea, but it granted him an assured fluidity, a confidence, that didn't seem out of place on solid ground.

If Sandoval was an obvious sailor by his gait, he was a born captain by his visage and intensity. He had expressive, serious brows that framed sea-green eyes, his beard and mustache kept trimmed to a regulation few still followed. The beard hid a square jaw, albeit poorly, and his mustache eschewed some of the traditional Leonaran flair. His garb and adornments were the product of varied nations, Lombardian coats, Mashiriqi gold, and Khorasan scarves all hinting the sailor was no ascetic.
The sum of him was a handsome enough man, more striking than conventional, with a perspicacious expression readily worn on his high-cheeked features.

His voice was rich and warm, easily raised to carry over an idling or storm-swept deck, and just as easily lowered to private notes. It bore the faint accent of his homeland, laced with the flavors of a dozen languages spoken along Valea's coasts. Most readily Sandoval was a serious man, contemplative and steady, but his Leonaran blood led him to passion, flirtation, and a self-sure manner that seemed at times almost too bold.

Leon Sandoval was the owner of two auspicious names. His family's was the first, an old world synonym for success, merit, and honor. The second was the Valorous, the two-masted corvette that dragged a very different reputation in its wake.