Racially, the early-20s youth in ill-fitting patchwork clothes seems to be somewhat of a mutt. His skin isn't quite the right hue and his face is angled wrong, a fact that he's clearly embarrassed of - wild umber hair has been grown long to frame both sides.
Thin, nearly-iridescent golden scales occupy the space under his eyes and around his temples, and his knuckles are abnormally thick and pronounced - he keeps the latter hidden under a set of ratty fingerless gloves.

When he's seen throughout the city it's usually with a sheen of brow-sweat and wearing a makeshift leather hardness, often loaded high with firewood or fish piled upon his back. The jingle of his unguarded belt pouch announces not only his gangly, long-strided arrival, but also his rather unfortunate net worth and remarkable trust in other people.

Clad in a suit of extremely loud and rusted chainmail, the youth is also known to bear a heavy shield forged from an unusual steel alloy and inlaid with platinum seams and trim. The center of the shield is decorated with a deep, molten hand-print and a rune in some forgotten language. However, the 'uppty tradoor' (as Thadrun had once called it) is currently caked in a thick layer of hardened mud; presumably so that it better matches the owner. They are both accompanied by a wafting potpourri of unique smells.