Barely reaching over five and a half feet, Jairyth is a short man, a runt amongst a prominently tall heritage. Slender of waist and with a wiry frame owed to years of rough living and poor nourishment, the Northman’s faded shell leaves little to the imagination, and is certainly lacking in any imposing elements. 

 

A thick drape of auburn hair rests idly in a wild mess, brushed back off his face to present the man’s wearied features. A single garish scar lines his forehead, oversetting a dark brow and a crooked nose, which no doubt has been broken on more than one occasion. Far paler of skin than one would except of his kin, the somewhat rough appearance is complete with a thick, unkempt mess of a beard lining his jaw, which is rarely, if ever, shorn.

 

The sparkling glint in his crystalline blue irises, belie any sense of exhaustion the dim rings beneath his eyes would suggest. This is only furthered by the liveliness of the man’s movements, a balance in his step and a sprightliness of animation, certainly go so far to disprove any lethargicness on an otherwise jaded appearance. The inflections and fluency of his speech are all but absent of a Lakelands accent, instead neutralised by the far softer mannerisms of the Westron tongue.

 

Often garbed in a tatty cured tunic which clings tightly to a baggy undershirt, Jairyth tends to swaddle his somewhat diminutive frame. With a cumbersome cotton cloak, torn gloves and weather-beaten boots, suggests the man is frequently on the move, the accompanying garments seldom absent. A buckled and notched belt remains tightly wrapped about the man’s waist, housing a variety of items including – an ill-kept smoking pipe, a flute, a variety of pouches and a small selection of knives, ranging from those that whittle wood to those more apt within an inn’s kitchen.