[Appearance: Hideous, Social Stigma: Uneducated]
[Current Equipment: Fine Chainmail Hauberk, Ancient Mace (Tethered), Medium Shield]

When you say the word "Minotaur", all sorts of images come to mind. Primal, savage, a horned beast-man out of hearth side stories and half-humored anecdote.

Magnus meets all the basic criteria, he's big yes...not terribly big, about six and a half feet with his slightly stooped posture. Many folks have met taller humans at one time or another after all. He is also bulky, not hulking, but given his thick coat of long shaggy fur, non-existent neck and shoulder "hump" he regularly seems a lot larger than he actually is.

Hooves, yes, Horns...a little smaller than one would expect actually, simple, well cared for and curling close to the skull with forward points. It's around that point that the creature of half-myth and the reality begin to diverge.

He's cleaner for one, his combed woolly coat ranging from reddish brown in the winter to almost a blond in the summer months. His eyebrows especially tend to be a slightly different color than the rest of him, giving a remarkable range of expression on his glossy black eyes and flattish broad face. He also looks young, younger than most would expect.

Although rarely seen, the fur along his left thigh is marred by a lighter strip that hints at a scar, maybe eight inches or so long and a half inch wide, running diagonally from hip to knee. His chest now bears three distinct scars from stab wounds, each from different times in his life, and his left hoof bears a cloudy depression where it has healed from some significant injury.

Unlike many of his kin, Magnus speaks Anglish as his native language, and given that he was raised in the mixed company of the road his easy slightly rural inflection surprises many. His baritone voice, deep enough to set a quiver in the chests of those nearby, can be a little disconcerting to strangers however.

One of his frequent sayings is "Hey, nobody is more surprised when I look in a mirror than me". Megalos is all he has ever known, having never even visited the Northlands of his forebears.

His clothing is simple, tending towards rugged and heavily patched homespun. He does dress a little lightly for the weather, seldom if ever finding the need to use a blanket or draw his cloak about, but he also seems abjectly miserable in the heat of summer.

All in all he is undeniably a rarity in the Empire, drawing stares, pointing children and whispered conversation...if he is lucky, and far, far worse if he is not.