All olive skin and black hair, Topaz is a faun.  Horns curl darkly back from his forehead, a fair bit more than small spikes.  They have just begun their inevitable outward turn and to spiral under, not quite yet so much as those of his more capricious cousins.  His hair's worn long and slightly wild, sprouting from his head in jet ringlets that fall well below his shoulders.

He sports a small beard and moustache, the van Dyke completed by, of course, a goatee.  His skin is a dark cast and expressive, while his face is almost Roman.  Reflective of the seasonal changing of the maple or oak, laughing eyes shine with some secret joke...a limerick, perhaps, or a bawdy pub ballad.

Though the degree is ever dependent on the turn of the year, Topaz could at best be called fuzzy.  More to the point, he varies from hirsute to downright wooly, most obvious when he's bare for dancing, bathing, or just because he feels like it.  His dress shifts between the extremes of practical and outlandish: traveller's clothes when journeying afoot or via wagon with the troupe, exotic when performing.  Always, however, the cut and material are of a style to catch the attention and suggest that there's always a mystery one isn't quite able to see.

As a performer, he's talented in his own right, able to find a stage for song, poetry, dance, acting, or poetic recitation.  As a faun, he's one of the more commonly associated with mortal folk.  That he's able to travel broadly and openly, into large cities and even court is something unseen a few decades ago; they Fey were rapidly fading.  Just maybe the old magics have found a way to dance hand-in-hand with the fast-changing world.  Perhaps there are still epics worth seeking out and myths still being made, after all.