Martin moves like someone who has spent years leaning on a palisade. His shoulders are square but carry a slight forward slope from decades of watch posture. He has a weathered, lined face with sunspots along his cheekbones and a pale, faded scar that arcs from the left temple down to the jaw. His right forearm shows a faded tattoo of Kuto's Gate's crest, partially rubbed away. He keeps an odd little brass compass pinned to his breastplate; it points true north but its glass is cracked. When he walks in town he treads lightly but purposefully, eyes scanning and then lingering fondly on doorways as if greeting old friends.