The Wight Album
Log Info
- Title: The Wight Album
- Emitter: Whirlpool
- Characters: Dalton, Jay, Kyria, Patch, Sherine, Vaughn
- Place: Alexandros Wilderness
- Time: Sunday, July 17, 2022, 10:02 PM
- Summary: An eliminated group of wights seem to have had musical accompaniment. Adventurers are contracted to find and deal with the source. They travel out to the guard fortification and find several corpses, former wights, one an Alexandrian guard who -likely- was killed just before he turned. Their older ones have clothing suggestive of Dragonieer and Dran. They follow to the initial encounter site, and find tracks to pursue. The music was some sort of flute,
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dalton 7'1" 412 Lb Giantborn Male Huge man with stern features and demeanor. Jay 5'9" 145 Lb Eaglefolk Male A perky male Blue Jay with a discerning eye. Kyria 4'5" 95 Lb Dawn Elf Female Silvery blonde, petite Dawn Elf. Patch 4'8" 100 Lb Dawn Elf Female A blond sildanyari with a port-wine stained face. Sherine 5'2" 111 Lb Human Female Veyshanti sword dancer in blue and gold. Vaughn 5'7" 146 Lb Human Male A straight-backed Human witch hunter. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the GM =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Whirlpool Otyugh I am stinky! -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
The prior night, a wight attack on an Alexandrian scouting mission was repulsed by the Alexandrian militia. Well prepared and equipped with holy water, they were able to deal with them without significant losses by withdrawing to a fortified location. The militias lack the strength of arms that irregular forces, such as yourselves, tend to bring to bear, but clever tactics and preparation can make up for a lot and, in this case, did.
What was strange, howqever, is that the team reported back to Alexandria's government that the wights had been accompanied by music, even if they couldn't find the source of it. They said it 3was clearly something that driven them on, and as the line between magic and music can be incredibly thin, further investigation is warranted. That's why you're heading to the battle site to further investigate and try to see if it was something one of the bodies of the wights that might've generated it as a magical effect *or* if someone was helping or, worse, leading them to attack the Alexandrian position.
Either way, the government wants to know what's going on and you're going to help them find out.
That's why the mid-morning ride out into the countryside.
After a quick stop to pick up more holy water.
Vaughn follows along whoever saw fit to lead the patrol towards the site, rigid and straight-backed on his saddle as they ride along. "...one has to wonder what sort of music it was.", Vaughn mentions off-handedly to whoever is in earshot of his murmur. "Had it a military cadence? Perhaps it was surreal? Isobar Martial Music? I am particular towards those."
Dalton is impressed when there's a horse big enough for him. Being that it hasn't been long enough since the sewer, he's still getting over the last of the cruds still. He wears a torn strip of blanket as a scarf at the moment and it's just as well as he sniffles and then sneezes again loudly, booming. "Pretty sure I'm not contagious anymore," he assures the other party members that aren't Kyria who already knows why the giantborn is still slightly under the weather. A cant is given towards Vaughn and he smirks, "Maybe it can summon another tea with lemon and honey," he snurfs and then cough clears his throat.
One of those riding out to investigate is a black, white and bluejay egalrin. Lightly armoured, his particular skill-set isn't obvious, though he does have a nicely appointed three piece suit, minus the jacket and plus a mithril shirt beneath the vest. A long, glittering rapier is at his side and several sets of silvery hunting bolas balance out his belt.
"I've been on a few of these wight investigation missions. On one occasion they were accompanied by some frogs, and, well, I think a special kind of wight. She looked like she was a former cleric and still remembered things."
He is watching the sides of the road, and listening between his conversation, "I think they can remember their former lives, if they're made right. So maybe it's a bard. Was a bard."
Patch clings to her horse, one hand on reigns, one on the horn of a saddle as she is hunched over, and looking a little green in the face. The small bard does not like the rocking, and trotting of large beasts. She's had to tie her instrument on behind her, unable to do anything in the queasy and uneasy state she's found herself in. "Why did it have to involves music? I hate this. I wanted to walk." the bard just full of low, and whispered irritation as she trails behind the party at a close pace. "If it was, what was left of their song has been corrupted." the words of other's drawing her form her closed-off-complaints.
Sherine is a subpar rider but she fakes it well. She's been *around* horses. She just never really bothered, because a jungle, a beach, and a desert are not great places for long rides in the countryside.
Well, not on a horse. But she never bothered with anything else, either.
She is wearing blue and gold - blue over-robe, blue and gold chain mail, gold wrap over her black hair; a belted sash holding up her scimitar and some curved knives - and is completely at ease despite her lack of riding experience and the fact that they are riding out to deal with some wights.
"A dead bard? Some people say they're the best kind, that someone's music is only worth something after they are dead, and someone else performs it," Sherine says. "I never believed it myself. The music of the dead is not my style."
She has been trying to ride on the far side from Dalton at all times. She doesn't want a cold. Or whatever.
Kyria rides alongside the big giantborn, casting him concerned looks now and again as he continue to deal with lingering sniffles. She listens to the chatter of the rest of the group, but seems content on remaining quiet and watching the road. Other than the occasional cough of her own.
Before too long, you find yourselves reaching the guard outpost at the heart of the issue. This is where the scouting party retreated to and lured the wights to. It's also where you'll find said wight bodies, and the guards themselves who reported it. The building itself is a squat, stone building with a low stone wall bolstered by wooden fencing. It's not terrible large, not more than a single room and a single floor, but it's clearly defensible. In a pile, ready to be put to the torch, are the ragged, rotten bodies of the undead that they defeated. They are literally covered in crossbow bolts.
From the roof, an Alexandrian soldier, clad in his grey uniform, waves down at you, shouldering his crossbow.
"You the investigators they're sending us? Guessing so! Hold on a minute and we'll be right out."
Vaughn rolls his eyes languidly at Dalton's remark, though its visibility is hampered by the tea shades balanced on his nose. He pushes them up and smirks. "You jest, but Isobar has the best mint tea you will ever experience. And heaters to go with it.", he retorts before craning his neck upwards to peer beyond the group. "Speaking of honey, we may need to lace some of our words with that as we may or may not have a bard in the group." At this, he stifles a chuckle as he motions his horse to a stop and dismounts.
He peers up at the guard - not needing to squint because of his shades - and bobs his head, thumbing his belt as he lets the others speak. It's his first job, after all. He instead spends his time considering the pile of corpses.
"Ok," the bluejay caws back at the guard, "We'll be down here."
He dismounts, holding onto the reins of his horse and patting along the neck, "Anyone good with heraldry? I think they're safe to touch. I'm not going to."
He peers at the bolt-ridden bodies, "Mostly I'm wondering if they're from Dragoneri or are... more local."
Patch looks up at Vaugn's words about bards, looking back to her instrument tied to the horse, and then back to Vaughn with a coy grin. She says nothing, just untying her soul-partner, and taking it up as she waits for the guards to do as they will. "It's okay. I'm sure music is easy enough that we can do this without one." is the bard trolling? Well, yes. She was tired of the nausea inducing trotting, and this pause was enough to revive her. Mostly. She's still nauseous. "So, what's a wight body look like anyways? A dried husk?" she asks of the group, dismounting.
Sherine makes a face when she sees all the wight corpses. Because, well. They're gross. Mysteriously 'what happens to all the undead corpses once they become re-dead' does not come up often in the books she read.
But, though she's no bard, she is perfectly willing to talk. "Don't worry," she assures Vaughn, before she raises her voice. "Ho, the outpost!" Sherine calls, brightly, because that's what you do. Probably. "That's us. Fresh from Alexandria!"
Emphasis on the 'fresh'. Nothing here is fresh right now. Sherine hikes the lower edge of her headwrap up as she hops off the horse to make an impromptu scarf or mask, because do you really want to breathe wight corpse smell? She does not.
"I can take a look," Sherine says, more quietly, to the group. She ought to recognize some heraldry, at least. "No guarantees!"
Dalton is content to let the talkers talk, he falls to the back with Kyria to give a rear guard of sorts just in case. He adjusts his shoulder some and tries not to hack up a lung before whining a little afterwards, "This still sucks," he commiserates with his companion. Apparently the bigger the man, the bigger the man-cold. "Wight's look like whatever they were but...deader."
Jay looks around for something to tie his horse up to. Nothing is immediately obvious, and while he could wait for the guard to come down from the top of the building, he is a flightly bird and impatient with curiosity.
He walks over to the pile of corpses, close enough to poke them with a stick. Or something sharper. Which he doesn't do. Instead he stares at their clothes. "Hmmm."
Kyria sighs softly and nods to what Dalton says. She watches as the rest of the group goes over to inspect the bodies, holding onto the reins of her horse with a gentle pat for the animal as the smell of rot seems to upset it a little.
Indeed. As you approach the corpse-pile, there's a handful of them there, the smell only gets worse. The horses do not like it. The guards come out of the station and begin approaching you. They're watchful and ready, but not expecting any trouble from you just yet.
"They came out of nowhere. Only got one of us, but we took care of that." He sounds sad about it, more than anything else, and leaves the thought there. Indeed, of the bodies in the pile, there's a grand total of five. Most of them look like, well.... old corpses, except for the fresh one with a crossbow bolt in its chest and a guard uniform. The rest? Dressed in tattered rags. Telling their origins will take a moment of study.
GAME: Patch rolls perception: (12)+8: 20 GAME: Kyria rolls Perception: (16)+4: 20 GAME: Jay rolls perception: (5)+14: 19 GAME: Vaughn rolls perception: (9)+3: 12 GAME: Dalton rolls perception: (5)+6: 11 GAME: Sherine rolls Perception: (2)+4: 6 GAME: Patch rolls Knowledge/Geography: Trained Use Only: 0 GAME: Patch rolls 1d20+2: (12)+2: 14 (Bardic Knowledge for Geography.) GAME: Jay rolls knowledge/geography: (12)+4: 16 (+4 on the roles if Urban, +2 if Forest, as is if neither) GAME: Jay rolls heal: (13)+3: 16 GAME: Sherine rolls Heal: (10)+0: 10 GAME: Kyria rolls heal: (7)+2: 9 GAME: Jay rolls knowledge/local: (12)+10: 22 GAME: Sherine rolls Knowledge/Local: (13)+7: 20 GAME: Patch rolls 1d20+2: (20)+2: 22 (Bardic K/local)
"Yes, I imagine we'll make better use of a /bloodrager/ like yourself. You'd look positively nasty swinging that thing about.", Vaughn comments drily but amusedly at Patch as he takes steps towards and a closer look at the pile of bodies. A wag of the eyebrows is given to Sherine's words before he continues: "...and they look like this, I reckon.", he says as he gestures a gloved hand at the pile and still dry as a desert, though likely signalling his first time actually beholding a wight. This time, he squints hard at the pile, though offers no insight for now.
Sherine refuses to touch the corpses with her hands.
Fortunately she can see them just fine without doing so, though she does adjust the headwrap around her mouth and nose so she doesn't have to smell them while she does it. She even crouches down, though she is still not touching.
"That one," she says, indicating one with her little finger. "I think that one's Dragonier, maybe. The other ones... Dranish maybe? I've never been up there," or met very many people from it, "so I don't know those so well." She bounds back to her feet afterwards, acrobatic despite her jingling chain shirt.
Sherine looks apologetic at the guards. "I'm sorry to see the one that fell." Not that there's anything she can do about it, short of helping deal with the wights now.
Patch had gone with those who were to inspect the bodies, combing over the details with the others as she furrows a brow. The words of Vaughn cause her to smirk as she tends to business. She's never seen a wight so close, but she does take this seriously, inspecting clothes, wound, and even mouth and teeth. There are ANSWERS a bard must know, and it involves a detailed inspection with her dull-green eyes. "It all seems to be as the guards say, yes?" her glance moving to Myria, and Jay. "I'm not seeing much else."
"I'm sorry. For your loss." Jay says, after staring at the bodies for a while, raising his head and looking at the sad guard. "Integrity C Truefeather, esquire. The 'C' is for condolences. My condolences."
The egalrin's head drops to stare at the bodies some more, "You acted swiftly. You had to! It's important to act swiftly with wights, allegedly." More staring, "... really swiftly."
The story the guards told makes sense on the surface. Still... Integrity rubs at the back of his neck, his beak clacking as he closes and opens it in thought, "He looks really fresh. What's the official training regarding soldiers that might be turning?"
Kyria looks the bodies over as she gently pets the neck of her mount. Nothing seems to stand out to her, nothing that she puts voice to at least. Just a small shake of her head as she looks to the fallen guard.
"That's right! He'd gone white as a sheet, they grabbed him and he just ... he was going to turn, so we put him down. Mercy." He sounds sad about it, truly, and his eyes go down to the body. So what if maybe they acted a little *too* fast, hm? If they did. One can't really tell from the body, but it seems, from his reaction, entirely plausible that maybe they did act a little... quickly.
"But, anyway, there was this ... music with them. It was like someone was pushing them ahead with it, if tht makes sense. We never saw the source. Why don't I take you to battle site where it started playing? It was ... flute, believe it or not. Like someone was playing a battle march."
Patch snaps up her glance to the guard, straightening her marching coat with a tug of thumb with a stern look in her eyes. "Where did they march from? Was it a dirge? Was it a battle litany?" her glance then looking between the others. "I don't much like this." this falling oddly into a very familiar, but now uncomfortable realm of music and magic. "Likely the flute itself, and the performer are part of this problem. Both at least... need to be addressed."
"Sure. Let's get away from the smell. Is it okay to tie the horses to the fence?" Integrity asks, stepping away and securing his mount. The egalrin is ready to follow. To keep the guard talking, he asks, "Do you remember the cadence of it? Could you repeat a few bits? Patches might recognize it. Did you hear it before you saw the wights, or did it start while you were fighting them?"
Sherine's head turns to look at Jay. "Your name is Integrity C. Truefeather?" She sounds somewhere between amused and unsure if she's having a practical joke played on her.
She focuses afterwards. Flute? she thinks to herself. "Flutes aren't very martial usually, are they? I mean, you have... pipers and things..." She was expecting drums, if she's being completely honest.
<OOC> Patch says, "Can I make a knowledge/arcana or history check to see if anything about a flute rings a bell?" GAME: Patch rolls knowledge/History: (11)+8: 19 GAME: Patch rolls knowledge/Arcana: (10)+8: 18 GAME: Kyria rolls knowledge/arcana: (2)+9: 11 GAME: Vaughn rolls knowledge/arcana: (1)+4: 5 (EPIC FAIL)
"It is!" The bluejay confirms, "My parents were very enamoured of the Virtues. My sisters are Temperance, Persistence and Reluctance." He hops a little, "'Lucky might have been more Vice inspired though, or something."
Vaughn wags a finger. "Told you it was martial music. I've no idea how that works, though. Perhaps some sort of /spirit/ to be roused remains?", Vaughn comments as he spins on his heel and follows after whoever leads the way to the site.
Patch takes a deep breath, her glance roaming to the group as she thinks about all the different issues that contribute to this problem. "It's an assault. It's directed. It's likely a bard, but one whom might have a item of power they're using to do their building." looking between the group, and back to the guard. "How /well/ was the music played?" her question rapid as she looks back to the others, sighing. "Are there any estates, or lords with bad blood in these parts?"
Kyria nods to what Patch says, "Possibly look around the outside, see if we can find some solo tracks from the...mob." She motions lightly to the pile of people. She glances up to Dalton to see if he has anything to add.
Dalton hms and simply nods, he's mostly trying to not look like he's getting a little sick staring at the pile of bodies. He is happy to nudge his draft horse into moving along already, even if it means he pauses ahead and waits for everyone to follow and move along.
The guard looks a little grossed out by the bodies, himself, and the smell. A nod is given.
"We're going to move them and torch them in a pit shortly. Just to be sure."
The guards are not exactly experts at wights, after all.
Soon, you're moving on to your next destination with one of the other guards, who's leading you to where the scout patrol had their initial engagement with the wights. It isn't too long a ride, really, perhaps half an hour away. Seems like the foot pursuit would've taken a while.
Before long, you're in a pleasant wooden glade marred by some scorch marks from deployed fire and more crossbow bolts scattered here and there to say nothing of the way the grass was ripped up.
GAME: Jay rolls perception: (1)+14: 15 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Sherine rolls Perception: (1)+4: 5 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Vaughn rolls perception: (2)+3: 5 GAME: Kyria rolls Perception: (18)+4: 22 GAME: Patch rolls perception: (16)+8: 24 GAME: Dalton rolls perception: (20)+6: 26
Kyria looks around slowly, letting her horse have a little more rein now that they're away from the corpses. Her head tilts and she walks away from the group a little bit to point at the ground, "Footprints." she says, turning back to look at the others.
Dalton is at least looking at the ground while he feels miserable and bad for himself. Which leads to him finding much the same thing as Kyria, a nod coming before a glance backwards and his head tilts a bit. "Boots are different than theirs," he observes in his very simplistic fashion while jerking a thumb to point back at the guards they'd just left.
Patch points to a spot on the ground after investigating and comes to the same conclusion, looking to Kyira and Dalton whom had come so close to her in their search of this area of field and tree. Sighing to the two that are close, "I don't like this. At all." an eye cast back to the bulk of the group. "Do we have a tracker?"
Sherine is busy trying to wrangle her horse, which really would like to wander off where the fire wasn't (and probably eat some grass, but the ways of horses are a mystery to her). As a result, she isn't really looking in the right place. At all.
"Bootprints?" she asks, before trying to turn her horse again. She leans forward and says into its ear, "Go THAT way," and is rewarded with a flick of its ear and a slow turn. "That sounds like a large hint!"
Vaughn shakes his head at Patch as he unholsters a hand crossbow from beneath his coat. "Not I, though we're headed directly towards whatever or whoever was behind the music, I reckon.", he murmurs as he takes a look about.
Jay takes a look around, examining the area for tracks. Leaning into a flower, he immediately gets a bee in his eye. "Ow! Ah! Ow!"
Birds and Bees, go figure.
One he's sorted himself out, he asks, "Ah, I can a little bit. I'm not really a scout."
He takes a look at the tracks, once they're pointed out to him.
GAME: Jay rolls survival+2: (3)+4+2: 9 GAME: Patch rolls survival: (19)+1: 20 GAME: Vaughn rolls survival: (14)+3: 17 GAME: Kyria rolls Survival: (18)+2: 20 GAME: Sherine rolls Survival: (7)+0: 7 GAME: Dalton rolls survival: (10)+2: 12
The guard seems surprised with how quickly the tracks were identified and simply states, "This is as far as I'm allowed to go. We'll wait for you to run down the lead at the outpost. If you need to run to a safe place, you know where to find us and don't be afraid to do so."
The tracks, then, are followable. Just when someone loses sight of whoever's passage this was, another person will find a broken branch, a different depression. It becomes clear that whoever did this *did* try to cover their tracks, to some degree, as it is also clear they did follow to the outpost at one point before doubling back, likely when the attack failed.
An hour passes. Two.
That's when you smell it.
...rot.
More rot. Intense. Best be on your guard, right.. Whatever's the source, you're getting *very* close.
Dramatis Personae
Dalton, Huge man with stern features and demeanor
At just over seven feet tall, this man radiates an easy confidence and self-assurance that comes with a lifetime of learning how to be comfortable in his own frame. Skin that is sun-kissed and shows the hardships of a life that didn't come with ease and pampering; scars that show up as brighter gnarls of scar-tissue on thick, worn knuckles and whip-corded forearms. His musculature is that of a warrior, lean but every inch is steel cable strong, with broad shoulders and a rib-cage that simply transitions into his torso without much sloping towards his waist. Proportionate legs mean his stride is long and usually filled with some measure of purpose whether he's giving it or not. Overall a suitably imposing stature that compliments his assured nature.
Dalton's features are broad, but are clearly defined and masculine, giving him a feral sort of regalness; his jaw a hard squared line underneath a finger-length beard that's shaped to show that. Vividly steel grey eyes are large and sharply intelligent underneath a slightly pronounced browridge. There's always an easy smile that can border on brilliant and never leaves charming, sincerely backed up by the easy to spot happiness in his gaze. He keeps his thick head of sun-bleached blonde hair in a semi-wild mane. Weathered, but not worn, the man keeps rugged and handsome in a close knit bond to go with the charm.
Jay, A perky male Blue Jay with a discerning eye.
Integrity C. Truefeather, esquire and supra-genius is a Blue Jay Egalrin lawyer. He stands tall and proud, sharply looking around for a situation he can jump into and provide counsel. His leather armour is padded and puffed, cut for avian lines, with bolas and a rapier on his belt. He wears a blue lupin on his lapel. His crest is long, ready to pop up at any objectionable thing. He is full of energy, standing and strutting about with style and flourish.
Jay looks at you.
Kyria, Silvery blonde, petite Dawn Elf.
Her hair is a pale silver-blonde, the almost white tresses have a metallic sheen to the long strands. Long layers cut into her hair frame her face, the warm flushed skin of her long slender ears adding just enough contrast to provide distinction from the long strands. Her eyebrows are just a little darker than her hair, and along with her eyelashes. Her eyes are luminescent, the silver color of her iris shifting in a fashion alluding to mercury. She's generously curvy at the chest and waist, with long, toned legs and arms. Her fingers are long and nimble.
The crimson material of her outfit is unbelievably soft, the corset form-fitting over her bust and snug around her small waist. An overlay of silver framework makes up the boning, the ivy design twisting around her form. Off the shoulder gauze sleeves bell out, a split running up the arms allowing them to slip in and out of the material as she moves; gathered at the wrists with silver bangles. Her pants are fitted, the legs partially hidden beneath the knee-high boots she's wearing. Two crisscrossing black belts rest on her hips each one sporting a sheath to a dagger.
Patch, A blond sildanyari with a port-wine stained face.
A thin, and bony featured Sildanyari is here. Her blond hair is an straight and falls to the mid of her back. Her eyes are like a dulled emerald, a fog of green that often seek about their surroundings. Her face is sharp and angular for her long-lived race, marked with a port-wine stain that starts just below her right eye, and takes up most of the according cheek and neck. It is a birthmark that is a bright red against the rest of her normally pale skin. Her body is thin, and there is little to no shape of muscles, just subtle hints of her femininity and petite curves that are hidden under her clothes.
She wears a jacket of flamboyant red, like a wet candy coated apple, shimmering even when under the sun. It is much like a military tailed-coat, but it carries no sigils of nations or allegiences. If one looks close enough the buttons that close about her bust and waist have little music notes upon their brass heads. The tails of the coat are tailored to hang high near the back of her knees. An undershirt with a frilled neck is worn beneath the otherwise flashy garb. Well fit trousers made of charcoal dyed wool cling to her hips, and are tucked into a pair of sturdy leather boots that are laced high above her ankles.
A simple silver ring pierces this Sildanyari's nose on it's right side, and three matching rings can be seen near the tip of one of her pointed ears (Also right).
Sherine, Veyshanti sword dancer in blue and gold.
Sherine is a short-ish human woman, standing perhaps five foot two. She's clearly Veyshanti both in her form and outfit; brown skin and wavy near-black hair on a frame that straddles the line between leanly athletic and curvaceous, she cuts an attractive image. She could be taken for a dancer.
Her clothes are as Veyshanti as she is. Blousy white pants, gathered in some inches below the knee with an engraved copper band on each leg, somewhere between jewelry and practicality. No boots or shoes but sandals, bound in place with a combination of sensible leather straps and clearly decorative metal rings at ankle and toe. Sensible bracers, but with gold bangles on her right wrist to draw the eye and make a sound, and around her head a yellow cloth suspending dangling gold on her forehead, held in place with a malachite pin.
Beyond that her colours are blue and gold; a pale blue long-sleeved shirt with puffy sleeves, drawn in around her waist with a leather girdle and a sash, the sash holding up a curved scabbard for a scimitar in front and a pair of half-concealed knives at her side. Over all of this she wears something like a cross between a robe and a cloak, blue with gold edging and fine abstract patterns. It's open in front, and hangs behind her like a long cloak, forming concealing folds, but has at least the upper parts of sleeves to keep it in place. It's desert wear, but slightly too fancy for a wanderer to really use.
Sometimes, for practical purposes, she has a half-concealed light chain shirt on beneath the robe, belted in by the sash. The chain mail has fine links to make it move more easily, but is still clearly not as light as mithril would be. She has coloured it with a blue and gold pattern to make it an accent for her over-robe, but beneath the colour it seems to be practical steel.
Vaughn, A straight-backed Human witch hunter.
The distinctly Highborn man before you cuts a trim - if slight - figure. Shy of six feet by a quite a few inches, he carries himself rigidly as if to compensate - though the frequent glimmer in his steel-grey eyes seems to betray a sort of amusement with the world around him. A longish face with a slightly protuberant nose culminates in a prominent jut of sharply squared-off chin, lending greatly to his oft-imperious facade. His dark brown hair is swept back from a widow's peak, kept in place by what looks to be pomatum.
He is usually seen wearing a black buckled tunic layered beneath a polished silver breastplate emblazoned with a sunburst and a dark brown leather long coat, bottomed out by brown flared breeches cinched by a duty belt and black spurred leather boots. Depending on the weather, he may or may not be donning a black slouch hat and tea shades as well. A silver longsword is sheathed in a brown scabbard clipped to his left.