Korin Deepwell
Fighter
Korin Deepwell
Species
Human
Appearance
Korin is a broad, weather-darkened man with the compact balance of someone who has spent four decades standing on surfaces that pitch beneath his feet. His hands are the first thing most people notice. The fingers are thick at the joints, the nails cut blunt and short, and the palms have been polished hard by rope, axe hafts, wet timber, and salt. He moves with a measured sideways sway even on solid ground, as though some private tide still rolls beneath the stones. His beard is clipped close except for a narrow gray wedge beneath his lower lip, maintained with almost fussy precision. The unexpected contradiction is his cleanliness. His coat smells faintly of tar and brine, but his brass buttons, ledger clasp, and boot buckles are polished every morning until they catch the light like coins.
“His voice is low, rough, and economical, with the rasp of wet rope drawn across wood. He speaks in short sentences, rarely uses someone's name twice in one conversation, and leaves silence after important statements.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
Hands hardened by rope and timber, with unusually polished nails and carefully cleaned knuckles.
A permanent sideways sway that remains even when he stands on unmoving ground.
A copper anchor sewn inside his coat collar, hidden unless the coat shifts.
A narrow gray beard kept with meticulous precision despite his otherwise rough appearance.
A brass ledger clasp he rubs whenever he suspects someone is lying.
Voice
“A gravelly baritone with a maritime rasp, quiet enough that listeners lean in, then sharp enough to cut through wind, bells, and shouted orders.”
Clothing
A dark green wool harbor coat reinforced with leather at the shoulders, a salt-stiffened linen shirt, tar-black trousers, high sea boots, and a broad belt carrying keys, chalk, a whistle, and a compact ledger. His coat bears no civic insignia, only a small copper anchor sewn inside the collar.
Body Language
Korin stands with his feet wide and his weight slightly forward, ready for a deck to lurch beneath him. He keeps one hand near his belt even during friendly conversations. When angry, he becomes very still and begins rubbing the brass ring of his ledger clasp with his thumb. When someone earns his respect, he turns his whole body toward them, an uncommon gesture from a man who usually speaks while looking at the harbor.
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