You notice him first by the pipe smoke lingering above him while he props his boot on a tavern table. He is tall and moves like someone used to leaning on a heavy blade. His long chestnut hair hangs in loose, slightly oily waves; the hair near the temples is threaded with faint scars. He wears a blue padded cloak with a wolf-fur collar; the collar still smells faintly of smoke and damp leather. The cloak's hem is ragged and mud-stained, the padding lumpy from years of rain. His breastplate is dented and burn-marked in places as if he has slept beside fires more often than in a barracks. The pommel of his greatsword is worn to a smooth shine from his palm. Unexpected detail: he keeps a small, folded paper theatre puppet tucked into an inner cloak pocket, dulled with soot and inked with a childish smile.