Haveron Stormwal
A tall and well statured man, youthful if you look closely enough to get past the grizzled exterior. His eyes stand out from the lightly tanned skin framed in an off-blond sand coloured hear. He wears it long and free. He would be an attractive man if he'd put more than the barest utilitarian thought into his appearance and sharpened some of the burred edges of his attire and grooming.

The firstborn of the Stormwal family has passed his twentieth summer, but probably not by much. He, despite first appearance, is emphatic and expressive in any feelings he has that rise above default and it's only when excited, or pulled into something that his demeanour changes quote dramatically, one might say. However, to get past the initial vision of man walking with a foot-scraping gait and outwardly sour, grim appearance one must engage him with talk or action a touch more arousing than mere greetings. It would seem to most, who don't interact with Haveron that he is more inward thinking in his manner.

No stranger to the ardour one meets in the world and what some might assume a warrior way of life, Haveron's hands are calloused and his muscles thickened from years of work; it is clear. Across his body he wears worn fabrics that may once have been something passing on finely woven mostly coloured blues and greys darkned on the road. Covering that is a mix of scale and leather and even some plated armours. Across his back a large round shield is strapped, covering the item he wears that is most noteworthy.

Sheathed on his back Haveron wears a long sword that would require a man to wield well in two hands. It shines like a beacon in contrast to the rest of his well-worn attire and offers such finery to one's gaze that it may be hard to look away for those that appreciate such things. Beautifully crafted and inlaid with a twisting of metals the shapes and contours of the blade are quite lovely.


Slung to be left handed.