A thickly constructed beast of a man. Hair the color of summer wheat, untidy and forever falling over his brow. Eyes of a deep verdant green, like the grass that grows along the riverbanks of his homeland. His hands are rough and calloused from a lifetime of outdoor living, travel and honest labor. An ugly scar trails just above one eye, wandering up towards his hairline; another decorates the right side of his mouth. His broad frame is draped in plain woolen shirts, with a leather belt at his waist and time-softened trousers of the same material. The boots on his feet have seen countless miles of open road and he cares for them frequently with oil and cloth. In the frost, a fur-lined cloak will sit about his shoulders.

He is an intermittent presence, never grounded in any place for too long, often traveling with the seasons and the whims of his heart. Though his fair features and strange accent paint him as a foreigner, he poses as a simple fisherman when spotted in Bree-land. He is most easily found around its lakes and rivers, fishing gear at hand, though he passes by the local taverns when his appetite for a proper supper and the company of others rouses itself.

His manner is reticent, self-contained and enigmatic. Questions aimed at prodding into his past will likely be met with silence.

[Image from deviantart.com/aniviel/art/Cullen-511675441]