Reynard Fasquelle is a man whose face tells a story. A long pink line of scar tissue from temple to jaw interrupts his grizzled, pale complexion; possibly explaining the black patch covering his right eye. Stubble reigns unchecked across the lower half of his face, except for his upper lip, which sports a full mustache, and watery blue eyes stare out from beneath bushy brown eyebrows. A tarnished steel breastplate sits on his chest and partially obscures the leather jerkin which lies beneath. Utilitarian britches the color of dirt are held up by a thick belt featuring an ostentatiously large buckle. From this hangs a worn leather sheath housing a longsword which, in contrast with the rest of his appearance, seems pristine with a steel guard, leather-wrapped grip, and golden lion’s head pommel. A leather and wool overcoat completes the ensemble and he has the smell of the road about him, though seems clean enough.
Of a rough and tumble nature, Reynard seeks the pleasures in life: fine food, drink, company, and women. He is not afraid of a fight however, and often drunks looking for a fight will fail to notice his physique, distracted by his carousing and decadence. When this happens, the resulting violence betrays the years of fighting Reynard has endured to earn his coin.