Sir Fergal is a broad-shouldered Mercian human who looks carved from storm-worn chapel stone and then reluctantly taught to smile. His mail is polished to a mirror sheen, but the polish never quite hides the scratches, dried wax, and old blood tucked into the seams. He moves with a cheerful, rolling stride, as if walking to a feast rather than a brawl, and when anger takes him his whole body seems to tighten like a drawn bow. The most memorable contradiction is his face: a warm, boyish grin framed by a scar that pulls one corner of his mouth upward into a permanently half-merry, half-menacing expression.