A young man, who carries himself with the air of nobility his tattered garments and oft used equipment silently refute.
Tired and world weary Malavius makes his companion's troubles his own, always trying to solve other's problems, always running from his own.
He befriends few, but will share the company of any honorable seeming sort.
Scratched and dented armor in that pattern of a legionaire's armour segmenta, over soft leathers, worn underneath his ragged robe. His chipped arming sword with a hawk crest engraved on the pomel sheathed in his peeling leather scabard he wears at his left hip. Mud caked hardened leather boots protect his feet on his long marches.