A tall man who moves like a practiced blade in courtly rhythm. His face is weathered bronze from years of campaign sun and torch-light; a thin white-pronged scar runs from under his left eye down into his jaw like a lightning mark. His mailed hauberk is kept spotless down the front but the pauldrons bear notches and faint burn marks that shimmer like salt when he turns. He wears a deep-blue surcoat embroidered with the sigil of Arthur's round table, but beneath the hem he habitually tucks a folded blue silk handkerchief that smells faintly of pine and coal. Unexpectedly, his gauntlet fingers have tiny glass vials of colored sand lashed inside them so when he gestures the dust spills out in a whisper of color.