Wears a dented breastplate polished down the center to a dull sheen from where he rubs it each night. His left shoulder has a stitched leather patch in the shape of a falling leaf that belonged to his old town's militia. He moves with the economy of someone who has stood watch for years; his steps are quiet, but he tilts his head as if listening even when engaged in conversation. Contradiction: when relaxed among close friends he absentmindedly hums an old tavern drinking song in a voice that is almost childlike.