Ship doctor aboard Temperance
“With all due respect, my lord, if you don’t fancy getting a little blood on your fine coat, get the bloody hell off my medicae deck and let us do our jobs. There are medical miracles to be enacted. There, scootch…”
A big man. Not fat, but big, with a thin covering of grey hair on his skull, and a pair of intelligent eyes peering out from behind small round spectacles (“I will keep trusting in my own eyes, thank you very much, dear Magos Enginseer!”).
Where the man’s abominable, near-incomprehensible accent comes from is the subject of much debate among the crew. The dear doctor is, clearly, not this part of the galaxy.