Geoffrey is a rather unassuming sort. At 5’8” and perhaps eleven or twelve stone, he’s far from imposing. His clothes are simple, but well-made and sporting strong colours – right now, he’s wearing a cream-coloured, button-less long-sleeved shirt with a modest collar, serviceable brown leather hiking shoes, smooth grey canvas pants with a drawstring at the front and held up by a black leather belt with a simple brass buckle. Over this he’s got a brown canvas cloak, its edge reinforced with fabric of a similar colour. He carries a three-foot walking stick made from polished oak, the wood curved from age.

Geoffrey’s skin is pale for the most part, with the hint of a tan at the neckline and hands. His hair is a short brown affair, combed back from his face. He sports friendly muttonchops, carefully maintained. His chin is not terribly strong, but it’s there. His cheekbones are somewhat lacking, his nose a little bent towards the top but otherwise straight and thin. His eyebrows are slightly thicker than average, but not bushy. When he smiles, he shows off straight white teeth that are clearly taken care of. He’s a very sparse fellow – no paunch, nor any obvious muscle.

His physical mannerisms tend towards politeness – he stands out of peoples’ ways, often walks with his hands behind his back, and carries a handkerchief which he occasionally uses to wipe the sweat from his brow when poring over his ledger. Everything about him seems very clean.



Sedivore: The Untittled epicspire Funkmaster_Rick