Quiet, intense and perhaps a little severe, Ilya Josephus is not one of those individuals who generally makes a good first impression. He generally keeps his own company, and if one catches him at his leisure, he usually seems to be reading or writing in a journal, which seems to be full of his diminutive, yet highly neat, handwriting.

The first flush of youth has been and gone, and he is now well into his thirties albeit his dress, manner and the creases on his forehead make him seem a good decade older than he actually is. His hair appears to be the colour of dust or sand, and his eyes are a flinty grey, gazing out from a pale face which seems to have seen little of the sun.

Ilya's clothing is comparatively smart for someone on the path of an adventurer, usually consisting of formal collared shirts and cotton trousers in muted tones, under which he wears a pair of well worn boots which seem to have been re-soled on several occasions. Depending on the weather, he may huddle beneath a greatcoat which appears to be a size too large for him, or cover his face and neck with a woolen scarf which appears to have been savaged by a small colony of moths.

On this particular journey, he is accompanied by a small chest (around two foot in length and a foot each in depth and height), and a battered leather satchel where most of the straps appear to be a decade younger than the sack itself.