Allistair possesses the kind of effortless beauty found in classical statuary, with a sharp jawline and heavy-lidded, sapphire eyes that seem to be perpetually searching for a lost memory. His honey-blonde hair is kept in a fashionable, swept-back style, though a single stubborn lock often falls across his brow. He moves with a calculated, rhythmic grace, a byproduct of a thousand hours in the fencing salle, yet there is a subtle stiffness in his shoulders as if he is bracing for a blow that never comes. Paradoxically, while his physical presence is commanding, his hands are remarkably soft and uncalloused, and they tend to tremble slightly when he is not holding his sword.