A few fingers shy of six foot - built for speed, good lean muscle. The slant of his eyes and his deep black hair shout island blood, Tilmar or Corsain perhaps. He has some light scarring on his face reminiscent of a bout of childhood pox. He carries a duelist's sabre and marks his surroundings with sharp eyes, watching the people moving past. He may seem to have a casual ear to the conversation percolating around him. If you catch his eye he lifts his chin, nods, and waits.