Rinan is known to his friends and enemies alike (of which there are many in each camp) as "the Walrus" due to his bristling black horseshoe shaped mustasche.

Rinan stands just 5' 10" - so not short in Albion but certainly no giant when compared to many of his Mercanian countrymen. His colouring is darker too.  In appearance he resembles nothing so much as a barrell with stumpy arms and legs, and hands like a bunch of fat sausages.  He weighs 300lb. He wears his hair long and apart from his trademark bristling mustasche he is clean shaven.  Despite his stout and rotund appearance he is quite strong and surprisingly nimble for someone of his girth.

Rinan is a boastful and hedonistic man. As he would tell it himself "My friend, the best things in life are fighting, feasting and fornicating!" Said manifesto is often followed by a loud belch.

Rinan left Mercania under something of a cloud, although his stories as to why vary wildly and contradict themselves at times. He can be sly and likes to mock opponents to put them off guard before burying his large axe in their skulls (or preferably their backs).

An adaptable survivor and opportunist.  He adopts a pragmatic approach to the gods, equally willing to beg and wheedle any or all of them for divine favour, including this new "dead god". He is superstitious and doesn't trust magicians.  He has come to Albion as a sellword, seeking the easiest work he can find which can fill his purse which empties all too rapidly given his voracious appetites for good food and drink.

Whilst he is an easy-going and convivial companion, his temper when roused can lead him to the beserk battle madness which afflicts many of his countrymen.