Corin makScudari is tall and lanky, his limbs more sinewy than bulging, though his form is fit. His long face is sun-burnished but he looks some years less than his thirty or so summers. His dark hair is close-cropped and his beard trimmed, somewhat uncommon in the wilds of Taurica. The nails that tip his long fingers are clean and somewhat pointed.

He walks with a horseman's easy grace and the few familiar with the grassy plains south of the Black Pool that extend from the Wetwood to the Windward Crags would mark him down as belonging to the horseclans there. He carries the spatha-sword of those people with a sgiandu (black knife) in his boot top and, on occasion, their characteristic targ as well. But his garb is not the bright plaid that distinguishes the various clans. Rather, he dresses in dark leather--jack and trews, gauntlets and high boots--with a dark woolen cloak over all.

His quiet voice is a light tenor that he sometimes raises in song. A smile comes readily to his mouth in good company. It's not his fault that it sometimes looks a bit wolfish and rarely seems to reach his dark and glittering eyes.