A rugged, weather-cut man with a narrow face, broad hands, and the stooped alertness of someone who sleeps lightly. His plain iron helmet is dented above the left temple and polished smooth by years of nervous thumb-rubbing. Beneath it, black hair hangs in uneven ropes, stiff with dust and old sweat. His faded gray padded gambeson is patched with mismatched wool, sailcloth, and one square of embroidered blue silk that he refuses to explain. The cloth is stiff across his shoulders but soft at the elbows from constant wear. He carries himself like a limping laborer until danger appears, at which point his posture snaps upright with startling military precision. He smells faintly of wet leather, iron filings, and crushed mint. His face suggests a hard man, but his careful habit of straightening overturned cups leaves a strangely domestic impression.