Dreusthon Xavlamin
The slight, genial smile upon his lips, the almost doe-like expression in his eyes -- one has to wonder what this man-boy is doing among the ruffians, theives and cutthroats.  His clothes are simple:  a brown, hooded cloak that covers his simple, faded tunic and vest.  More than a few days of scruff adorn his face, most likely because he simply forgot to shave than because he thought it would further the perception of masculinity.

But go back to those eyes for a moment.  Those innocent, blue eyes.  There's a flicker of something behind them.  Did you see it?  Look again.  Did you hear the little voice inside your head whisper like withering autumn leaves "beware?"

No?  Pity.