Maximus is a broad-shouldered human man with the compact, weathered strength of someone who has spent more time in a saddle than at a training yard. His short black hair is clipped close at the sides, while the top has a stubborn cowlick that refuses every attempt at discipline. His brown eyes are steady and tired, and his square jaw tightens whenever he is deciding whether mercy will help or merely postpone harm. His old city watch coat hangs loose over dark blue and white armor, its cuffs carefully restitched and its brass buttons polished until they shine like small coins. A blue cloak edged in white rests over his shoulders. He moves with economical, mounted habits, turning his whole body before crossing a room and keeping one hand near the nearest exit. The unexpected thing about him is that, despite his formidable build and solemn bearing, he has an almost delicate way of handling cups, reins, bandages, and frightened animals. Within a minute of meeting him, most people notice that he pauses, draws a quiet breath through his nose, and clears his throat before speaking, as if every sentence must first pass inspection.