Capt. Ulysses Stark
Some six foot one and square across the shoulders like one of his Navy's beloved fast cruisers, Captain Ulysses Stark is a Royal Naval officer from a well-founded Westcountry family which has spent much of the last couple of hundred years turning out a steady stream of others like him, most of whom ended up as either portraits in the admiralty or small, bodyless plaques in the local parish church. His hair is raven-dark and close-cropped over dark brown eyes that are set above a sharp, beaklike nose that lends him a slightly aquiline profile in the right light (and which in turn, lends itself to one or two unflattering but essentially affectionate nicknames amongst his men).

 Too tanned from service in the Mediterranean to match the fashionable ideal of idleness he's leapt instead forsquare into the image of the fighting officer with an old-fashioned heavy sabre replacing the lighter establishment blade on his uniform and a good, solid service revolver sat opposite it for balance. In dress, meanwhile much of the braid and easily-entangled frippery of his dress coat has been replaced by acceptable but unorthodox hard-wearing material in a spartan cut that continues right down to the high, but infantry-pattern boots he favours over the more fashionable cavalry style of the prestigious land regiments and he's even allowed for native conditions of war to the point of bringing with him a House Guards-pattern Cuirass of polished steel, just on the off-chance although he doesn't break it out all that often.

 The rumour mill has yet to catch up with him of course, but apparently he's been posted to Mars under something of a cloud and has been furiously retraining on Skyships rather than surface vessels through his whole trip - to the extent that he has yet to master more than the most elementary Martian, which is likely to cause all manner of friction before long.