Ildrulf Versalain
You see before you a young man, perhaps twenty or twenty-two years of age.  His hair is red, long, and somewhat curly, while his eyes are dark green, and surrounded by more lines and wrinkles than is common in one of his age.  He looks as though he worries.  A lot.  Probably about everything.

The skin of his face is tanned, though not so much that the numerous freckles don't still show through, and it is clear that he spends a lot of time outdoors, exposed to the elements.

He is not a big man, perhaps a little under average height, and his frame could best be described as "wiry".

His clothes and armour are simple; homespun cloth (in browns, russets, and greens) and leather.  The shield which he often carries is of wood, covered with hide, with rim and boss of black iron.

The only touch of what might be termed "luxury" about him is in the sheath of the sword at his hip, which is covered with velvet of a rich green hue, and has ornate copper fittings.  The sword itself, though, is plain and workmanlike.


If he speaks, his voice is baritone, and his manner is usually deadly serious.

He sometimes smiles, but seldom laughs, save when his nimble fingers are performing some simple conjuring trick for the entertainment of a crippled child who looks enough like him to be his younger sister.