Wears a time-darkened breastplate mottled with faint bloodstains and the faded sigil of a border duchy. His left cheek carries a long, pale scar that splits a deep laugh line and curls into a puckered ridge beside his eye. He moves with the tight, economical gait of a man who has spent decades wearing armor, but when he is relaxed he paces like a scholar marking a map. His hair is cropped close except for a deliberately grown, thin braid of steel-gray tied at the nape, braided with a scrap of a child's red ribbon kept hidden in the braid. Unexpectedly, he favors soft leather gloves under his gauntlets and hums tunelessly when sizing an enemy up, a contradictory tenderness that hints at the man beneath the armor.