Years of working in a shop have been both a blessing and a curse for Alric. He is comely, not handsome, and hale - unmarked by the scars and pocks of everyday turmoil or the caress of the salt wind of his home in Marienburg. He walks quietly without rushing, taking in the world, though he frowns too often for most folk's taste. His eyes are a muddy brown, fixed with a certain determination, and his hair a mousey colour that tends to sandy-brown in the sun. His clothes mark his as city-bred: a muted tunic and trous, soft shoes worn with a thick woollen cloak and hood to shield him from the elements. Under the cloak a simple sling bag holds what few worldly goods he owns, hanging opposite to a stout wooden cudgel