Weathered and tapered like a well-used cloak, his face reads like a map of the city's winters. Deep laugh lines and a pale scar runs from his left temple to the jaw. He moves with deliberate economy rather than speed, conserving effort the way a smith conserves coal. His leather militia cuirass is patched in several places with faded municipal blue cloth. Over one shoulder he keeps a frayed blue sash threaded with tiny metal tags for each decade of service. Unexpectedly, tucked beneath his armor at the heart, is a child's embroidered handkerchief tied in a careful knot.