Wears the well-kept plate-and-scale armor of the Legion of Clarum that gleams when sunlight catches the hammered plates but shows soft, hurried scratches in places he touches most. Clean shaven, his jaw is square and often set like a chiseled law. His helmet is nearly always worn when he is on duty; it fits so closely that no hair shows and the Corinthian-like crest, dyed deep indigo, is braided with a single silver thread. When he moves he carries the slow, deliberate economy of someone used to marching long days but the motion of his shoulders flickers with a quickness that betrays reflexes kept sharp. Unexpectedly, tucked beneath his cuirass over his heart, is a faded scrap of linen painted with a childlike drawing of a kite.