The man stands at the height of five feet and ten inches, not overly muscular yet far from being weak. Coal black in colour, his messy hair is kept back in a low ponytail, revealing a scar that runs down his left temple. A rather handsome face is ruined by the wild beard he refuses to shave, but that isn't enough to cover the grin he almost always wears. It is rarely a sheepish grin, and an evil one just as rarely. Most often it either is malicious or attempts to be charming.
Even though now he's grown up into a rather calm, if not even fearless, man, he wasn't always that way. When he was but a boy, in facts, he was afraid of almost everything and, when he was in fear, he used to curve his back, clench his teeth and curl up his lips like a canine. That's what earned him the nickname "Jackal".
His clothes, although worn and patched, retain a certain elegance, half-contrasting with his feathered wide-brimmed hat and his mantle, both rather well-kept.
He has a bag where he keeps, among other things, a smaller bag with pipe-weed and a quite ornate pipe with intricate leaf designs carved in the wood.
The smell of sweat, not too heavy on him, is almost covered by that of smoke, of both pipe and chimney.

The only weapon he carries is a long, lightly rusting dagger (more like a spike, since it lacks a proper edge - it still is very effective as a nasty bloody stabber though), simply tucked under his belt. He does have a proper sharp knife with a proper sheath in his bag, bu that isn't exactly a weapon.

His baritone voice mirrors his calm self as it always sounds low and quiet, yet he claims that he can yell out a curse from outside the Prancing Pony and they will hear it all the way down to the Auction House.