A long scar decorates a head closely shaven, arching downward from pate to cheek.  Dark, nearly beady eyes stare out with smoldering animosity, narrowset over a nose broken likely in some unremembered brawl.  Shoulders are rounded, arms are chiselled, but a wide chest sits oddly atop a rounded middle made soft by too many ales.  Long legs stretch to the floor; this man surprisingly towers over most despite the paunch.

After further study 'tis apparent that the man knows his business; a spear sits almost negligently entwined in the straps of his backpack, ready for easy retrieval.  Another he carries with him; the gleaming spearhead upon this one is cared for lovingly with oil, the sharpened edge of the head glowing keenly with some inner light though none have seen him apply the whetstone here.  Daggers adorn a baldric wrapped twice around chain shirt, and almost an afterthought are the short bow and quiver of arrows that sit slung across his back.

When he walks he carries Tritherion's boon, point forward, splint mail the only means of defense.  He crouches low, and in combat scampers forward swiftly, the spear darting out quickly to offer its kiss to those who come too near.

When at ease it might be noted that his backpack seems devoid of anything but the most basic gear; 'tis apparent that here is one who has spent many nights beneath a darkened sky.

Place of Birth: Riftcrag on the The Great Rift along the southern border of the Bandit Kingdoms.