The man before you stands remarkabely tall, towering over you like a staute of old. His black hair cut neatly to his skull, or held back by a bandana that he keeps in the pocket of his hauberk. The only thing that makes anyone look twice are his eyes. As deep and blue as the lake of Evendim, with parts of grey like the rocks beneath the surface. A face that has been weather beaten by the outdoors, like one of the stone pillars of Annuminas, holding a nobilty and self-pride of his hertiage that time or war will never scar.