You see a knight, clad in worn, rusty, bloodstained armour. His face wears his weariness; bags beneath his eyes betray his fatigue; his absent gaze fixates on some distant oblivion; remniscent of the expressionlessness behind his bland smile.

He treads with caution, maintaining a low profile, as if his presence were unforgivable. Curiously, his helmet is not worn as the rest of his armour; one often finds him donning it to sleep, and removing it when he wakes. Those that witness his rest may find him speaking incessant gibberish, although on occasion, he speaks of "Lilly", whomsoever this may be.