A mane of chestnut hair, mixed with strands of blond and copper that shine when caught by light, cascades onto Corbray’s broad shoulders. He is young, perhaps in his early twenties, yet his shining, green eyes flicker with an unsuspecting wit. Blessed with a strong, masculine jaw; fair, unblemished skin; and a tall, lean, well-muscled build, he hardly looks the rough-living vagabond he is. 

He usually wears a simple, wool tunic underneath a worn, leather doublet, both of them knicked and tattered from hard years on the road. When expecting a fight, he often slides a leather gambeson, itself weathered and crude, overtop, with the hopes that it bears him to a better fortune than its previous wearer. A simple arming sword hangs from his belt. The sword’s only adornment is a fine, black leather which Corbray wrapped around its hilt- quite the improvement since he ‘acquired’ it. It is otherwise plain, with a round, steel pommel and a smooth, tarnished cross-section. At his right hip, Corbray keeps a dagger of equal quality, its hilt tarnished and speckled with rust. 

Corbray is quick to smile and quicker to laugh, and prefers to use his quick wit and his rugged, boyish good looks to talk his way out of most problems- they have not failed him yet! He also speaks with a mild Combe accent, which gives him a certain, rustic charm.