Tev Kass is good looking. He's got that sort of angular face with sharp cheekbones and intent thoughtful dark-grey eyes that grabs attention, and his frame is lean and muscular, suffused with that relaxed sort of energy that could be either caged power or a thin veneer of calm stretched taut over sanity shredding anxiety. He also looks like he may have lost some weight recently. His dark brown hair is streaked through with green, worn long, and bound up behind his head in a bun that stray strands are always escaping from.

He's about 1.8 meters tall, weighing probably somewhere around 85 kg and dresses in dark green, fitted pants, black leather boots, and a slightly overlarge, beat-up brown coat over a black sleeveless shirt loose at the neck. The blaster pistol slung low on his right hip conveys a sort of smuggler aesthetic, but for a contraband runner, he sure looks tired.