As Kreb is only half-Ugak, he's slightly smaller than one of his full-blooded kin, though not by much.  He stands a shade over seven feet tall with a large barrel chest and intimidating body of honed muscle that strains the limits of even the strongest hammock.  Like most of his kind, his skin is a ruddy shade of deepest red that calls to mind fresh blood mixed with dirt upon the battlefield.

The clothing he wears is hardly remarkable, though he tends to favor breeches and little else when not in his armor.  He carries a multitude of scars from a lifetime of hard labor and combat, and sports a crooked nose on his ugly face that has been broken far too many times.  He keeps his black hair short to better fit beneath his helm and his tusks long and pointed to better scare his enemies.

His eyes are deep pools of black and show only a dim spark of intelligence.  While he has the capacity for common speech, Kreb's vocabulary is small and limited.  He is, however, a true poet in battle as he scribes his triumphs in the universal language of pain and death.