Strong shouldered, haggard with a sharp acrid tang around him and patchy lank red hair, his eyes are acid weeping orbs and his cracked peeling flesh is horrid to see.
Clad in ruined clothes and boots, reeking of some strong acid, his mail shirt is pitted and blackened, and the long dagger he holds loosely in his hand drips some green liquid that smokes when it hits the floor. He walks with a strange jerky fluidity, and his fearures are twisted in a permanent rictus of pain and hate.
Known only as Brandt to his contacts, he was known to be a hard and dangerous man who liked to talk easily and speak softly. His once affable nature has now given way to barely suppressed hate and rage, and his wish to kill and see all die around him shows how far he has changed.
Once a dealer in narcotics and also a bootlegger with his hand in a number of ventures both illicit and legal, he has now become one of the Graveknights of The First Denied Soul and so is an enemy to all life.
His accent still has the burr and lilt of the northern parts of Heidelgard, but now has a cold empty and slightly liquid quality to it.