Six foot tall, the man was mature in a way that made him look strong rather than old, the visible muscles in his bare arms streaked with thin, glinting grey lines like iron mineral veins rather than the more traditional rock growths. His hairs were white, as they had been since he was a kid, and trimmed short on the sides while letting the ones above the head grow in long, wild locks that framed a square jawed open face and steel-grey, piercing eyes. The steel breastplate and bracers he was wearing were painted dark blue with white thunderbolts in his personal symbol, while the leather belt he wore was covered end to end with about five rows of polished bone studs, each made from the bone of a different enemy he killed. Even unarmed, there was no denying the sheer presence he had, somehow looking imposing without trying; with the massive heartbreaker wielded in both hands, the heavy hammerhead leaving streaks of electricity behind with every movement, he looked positively deadly.