It was an easy thing, describing Conn. Heavy-set and long-limbed, there was no getting around the fact that he was a big, big man. Could have been good-looking, too, with his square jaw, strong chin, tanned skin and dark blue eyes. Except that his nose hadn't been set properly after a bad break, he had some nasty scars around his face, a low-slung brow and most of the time the wild cut of his long, black hair made him look like he'd just taken a tumble down a hill. Didn't have the best skin, either.
 
  A scar on his cheek looked like he'd just about avoided having his left eye taken clean out by a blade. It had been a deep cut at the time, no doubt about that. The one just above his left brow had probably been done by a club or something, smashed him on the forehead. And then there was the one just above his jawline on the right side of his face, all jagged like it'd been done slow and deliberate - easier to see most of the time thanks to his dark stubble grown around it but not on it. Most recent one sat close to the center of his forehead, where it looked like he'd taken a damn axe blow and lived to tell the tale.
 
  He had others, too, all about his body. Too many to account for. It couldn't be denied the man was or had been a warrior of a sort, especially with the way he was cast. He wasn't chiselled like some sort of idealized statue. The man was just solid, with thick, sturdy-looking arms and a big, powerful back. Unlike some might expect, though, he didn't carry it with much swagger. Instead, he lumbered around looking as unassuming and out-of-the-way as he could.
 
  There was something about the way he looked and spoke that gave him an honest and open sort of air. Despite his gruff voice, the tone he used in general tended to be as soft and simple as he could make it. In a way, that voice summed him up. Trouble followed a man like him; a big man, a mean-looking man. Didn't matter where a man like that went, there'd be trouble, even if he didn't want it, even if he tried to keep himself to himself.