The drifter had a face of drudgery. The rust of long roads was carved into gaunt cheeks beneath pale scars and blemishes, granting his skin a harsh quality. His eyes weren't much better - Aberrant - somewhere between feline and reptilian, with sanguine irises that shimmered something emberlike.

    Boorish overall, his frame was reminiscent of a beast of burden, and the way his nostrils flared when he sniffed the air in a bloodhound's fashion only deepened that impression. His saving grace must have been the lack of pretensions in his conduct, and his subdued speech which was a kind of low, husky tone that said what he meant and meant what he said. The hint of a provincial drawl could be detected in his otherwise cosmopolitan accent.

    In twin scabbards which had been scarred by mismatched claw marks, two asymmetrical swords were sheathed upon his back. He was seldom seen without them, as they were a trademark of his profession, and a sign to those who had need of them.