Though older, Sir Gorrid's eyes still held the fiery passion of a true believer. He was rarely without his helmet or armor.  Though he removed the former before meals, it and is sword were always close at hand.  Like all those of the White Shield order, his holy symbol was the shield itself.  It was well-worn with the dents and scratches of a hundred battles, but still kept in good fighting condition.  He wasn't a huge man, but he was fit and more than capable of putting a young squire on their rump in the dust if they mistook his age for weakness.  But once they'd learned their lesson, he'd be the first to extend a gauntleted hand to help them back up and offer a joke to salve any wounded pride.