Tall and broad-shouldered with a posture that suggests both soldier and penitent. He wears a battered breastplate polished to a soft, almost holy sheen in the places his palm touches most often. His left gauntlet is missing the fingertips, exposing a pair of callused fingers that trace the carved prayer-runes on his longsword when he thinks. A faded pilgrimage sash, embroidered with the sigil of a sun over waves, is looped beneath his armor; the sash is accidentally bright in the sunlight and stubbornly stained with an ochre smear that never quite washes out. When he walks he favors his right leg slightly, a hidden limp healed but still remembered, and he moves with the careful economy of someone used to holding the line and watching over others. Unexpectedly, tucked into his breastplate is a small child's carved wooden horse, worn smooth by fingertips.