Hard-eyed and weathered. Roan has a face like split granite. Deep creases run from the corners of his mouth to a narrow, permanent scowl. A pale, crooked scar runs from his right temple down into his jaw, puckered and white against dusky skin. His hands are broad and callused, with short filigreed scars across the knuckles from years of baton training. He wears his hair clipped close on the sides with a longer, wind-whipped top he sweeps back when annoyed. Movement is purposeful and economical. He walks like a man who measures every step for a sentry route. Unexpected element: despite the martial austerity he keeps a child's embroidered ribbon pinned beneath his breastplate, slightly frayed and bright with sky-blue thread.