Oriole Deepka Armada has been described in many ways.

Some may describe Oriole as princely. Raw brown eyes, a regal broad nose, and voluptuous dark lips compliment a honed jawline. His hair is perfectly poised in what could best be described as a Bantu-Afro; individual knots wide and imposing, with a stray yellow-ochre bang purposely placed. Tattoos of a black boar and red gem are on the back of each of his hands, and the tribal mark beneath his eye - though a simple triangle - is supremely symmetrical. The edges of other inked-in pieces peek out from beneath the edges of his refinery. Even Odie's casual dress is fashionably performative.

With all of this considered, some have certainly accused Oriole of vanity. His martial robes are made of fine material and vibrant patterns of color. Oddly he tops this off with a brown leather jacket that feels rich as butter, and the inside is lined with fur that is nothing less than enviable softness. The bandoleer across his body was soil-brown with a bronze-gold filigree that seemed to fight off catching the light. At his hip, closer towards the small of his back, was holstered one of those up-and-coming firearms. It seemed notably less gaudy than the rest of him.

If one were to wonder how he could afford such simple clothes, a glance at one of the rings on his hands would reveal his position as a son of the Turners, the moiety of the infamous Armada Tribe.

It doesn't help that Oriole seems aloof, lost in a way that is self-absorbed to some extent. He often speaks in a way that others could construe as detached, and his unflappability translates to both a muted affectation in times of excitement or anger. If Odie had ever cared to address such comments, he would simply point out the values of forthrightness. With his family's reputation, it wouldn't seem to do him much good anyway, and seems to wear these criticisms like a cloak of glory

A few would call him intense. Not many outside the academy see Odie work at his art. The bags under his eyes, the scars on his face, the callouses beneath fine sleeves and gemmed rings are indicative of something more firm than his soft-seeming life. For all of his lazying mannerisms, an observant individual may notice that Odie is always doing something. Especially chewing; the man always has a lump of chewing clay in the corner of his mouth.

No matter what people think of Odie, most would agree that Odie seems cold.

Not just cold, but cold. His frigid intensity often slips out from behind his unfiltered gaze. It even seems to leak into his sepia skin, giving him a hue not quite like the dry skin of those that live in arid environments, but more like looking at a cliffside through falling snow. It isn't the sort of cold that cares to kill (though many may feel otherwise), but the sort of freezing that leaves you numb, leaves his features as immovable as a glacier's depths until a smirk breaks the ice.