Dietrich von Meyer is not a man overly concerned with his physical appearance. Which is not to say that he is slovenly or unkempt, just that matters of fashion do not often cross his more pragmatic mind. He would happily wear a battered but functional attire suited for combat in the presence of the Queen of Prythain without batting an eye if he expected that he would have to face danger soon. Comfort and practicality over aesthetics any day, to his mind. That said, Dietrich does seem to favor the blue and brown colors reminiscent of his father's fencing academy. Another souvenir from his time with those soon-to-be-fighting men is a small tattoo of the school's crest on the wrist of his right arm.

The body beneath his clothing is much the same, more concerned with practical matters than vain ones. Dark brown hair is kept short enough so that it requires little in the way of maintenance, though it is beyond the military regulation that his father would prefer. His face is kept beneath a short, but rakish, beard, leaving what some would say is handsome features behind. Despite his sheer confidence on the field of battle, Dietrich is not beyond most men in either height or weight. Standing just shy of six feet, and just below two hundred pounds, he look more like a veteran courier than the almost lifelong warrior that he is. All wiry muscle instead of massive iron thews.

But there is a strength and a certainty in that frame that allows him to engage men twice his size with nigh equal footing. That same assurance is echoed in the man's intense hazel eyes. They shine with a quiet surety born of experience beyond his years. Some might claim that his attitude and poise is one of arrogance, but as Dietrich is fond of saying: "It's only arrogance if it's not true."