Sven Arnoff is tall and gaunt, which belies his monstrous physical strength and endurance.
His face is a road map of old scars, as is nearly every other area of his body not covered by the standard issue banded armour of his unit. Beneath the meticulously well oiled but unpolished armour he wears red cloth padding and his feet are placed in hard old leather boots. It is postulated that these boots may indeed be older than Sven, though they have been repaired often enough to be said to be relatively new.

Sven has short straight black hair, and grey eyes, wider than normal and deeply sunken into his skull. He looks a bit like a corpse until he moves, particularly because he is often perfectly still when not being active.

Sven was was left for dead in a battle by his original unit at the first opportunity they had to be rid of the unsettling man. He is not a bad man, and initially only mildly ugly.

The main contributor to his woeful history of social interaction is his ghastly mannerisms, one of which is the taking of greusome battle trophies. Teeth, to be precise. Sven carries a pouch full of the left canines of every significant victory he has had since the age of sixteen, when he acquited his trademark set of unwashed, bloodied, ghastly pliers.

He also has a bone drill, with which he puts a single hole in each tooth, often during mealtimes. One day he will have a necklace.