Havelock is a sickly Dutchman of middling height.  Long, lank black hair held down under a dirty blue bandana.  He's pale and sallow; skin stretch tight over his bones.  Too thin.  Unwell.  Clammy and cold.  Oddly damp...all the time...  But somehow the sailor keeps going despite his never-ending ailment.  His eyes are dark, sad and, somehow, flat.  Some might say dead, but it's unlucky to talk like that.  Especially about this poor soul.  No used tempting Death closer to the man.  The Reaper will surely take him soon enough.

Till he does finally keel over, he's a damn fine carpenter.  Every ship he sails is glad to have his skill.  Even given his...condition...

He dresses like every other sailor from Old Earth.  Wide leg, knee length plain sailor's slops that have seen many days at sea.  His shirt was never great to begin with, the sun and sea have done it no favors.  His jacket is blue, when the situation calls for such a thing.  Well-mended and cared for.