With broad shoulders and a stocky build inherited from his Dwarven ancestors, clad in a warm cloak that all but covers the glittering breastplate beneath,and bearing a solid shield on one arm and a heavy mace in the other, Regoth is, at first glance an imposing figure, e'en though he stands short of four and a half feet in height.  His boots are worn, but cared for, and the pack upon his back looks as if it has been a faithful companion for many leagues.

Beneath the hood, his eyes are a soft grey-blue, his head is bald and his mustache and beard already gone to white, though he's not lived through enough winters that age alone would account for it.  On his lips, though, sits an easy smile.

Regoth seems remarkably spry for one of his race, his gait almost nimble, and if his words seem often rough and halting, it seems to be naught but unfamiliarity with them that is the cause, for his expression is warm and welcoming of company.

A traveler yes, perhaps a warrior ... but the silver amulet that hangs from his neck fashioned in the form of an upright mace standing before a boot marks him as a follower of Marthammor Duin to those who are wise in such matters, the Dwarven God known as the Finder of Trails and the Watchful Eye.