Silver and white are the colors defining the young man that is Vinter. White-blond hair crowns his head, the strands usually swept back as if by a strong wind blowing in his face. Pale, delicate brows arch over startling silver eyes, that would only add to his beauty if it weren’t for an ever so slight greenish tinge, like patina on cutlery that hasn’t been properly cleaned. His features are delicate and aquiline, the olive skin marred by neither wrinkles nor scars.

The slender, tall man is elegantly dressed. Tight, white pants vanish in polished, knee high, black boots. Some pouches and a few potions ride on a brown leather belt around his slim waist, the only weapon joining them a dagger in a silver sheath. A fine, silver-grey vest covers a white shirt with high collar and an equally white neckcloth that is held together by a silver clasp, adorned with a bright red ruby. Over it all Vinter wears a long, white cloak with filigree black embroidery on shoulders and lapels. Thin, black, oddly fingerless gloves complete the outfit. On the road a black shoulder bag usually joins his possessions.

The closely tailored clothing hints at whipcord muscles without an ounce of excess flesh hidden under them. The half-smile that oft plays around Vinter’s lips is reminiscent of a predator, amused at the futile antics of its prey.