Tall and imposing with the precise posture of a man born to lead. He wears a battered greatcoat of deep gray fur over plate that has been polished until the metal gleams like cold moonlight. Scorch marks and fine engravings of long-forgotten banners run along his vambraces. His right hand carries the light sword, which is slimmer than a longsword and etched with a single rune that glows faintly at dusk. Unexpectedly he wears a child's braided ribbon at his throat, the only bright, silly thing on him, knotted in a way that suggests a promise kept and a lie hidden. When he moves he favors a long, patient stride that both soothes and unnerves observers.