"I don't remember."
Dull is generally the first word Ken'ther thinks of when looking at his armor; boring, flat, static - any word of the sort. His appearance had grown of less and less importance to him through his years, despite his apparent youth. Armor had defined a man on the battlefield, be it one's capabilities in combat or their expertise as a medic. Finding his niche in the former of the two, he capitalized on this by donning either a pair of broadswords or a single one of them, with the setting ultimately dictating the number of simplistic weapons he wielded. If not made for beauty, perhaps these hulking blades would help him slash his way to success.
His shoulders were girth-some, which were matched with appropriately sized pauldrons that glowed with draenic etches. Traveling down, the remaining portions of his plate were likely crafted by a local junior blacksmith; at least when noting its lack of variety in shape and color. Such a suit of protection would provide an ample guard for him in the most dire of situations. An armored soldier wouldn't be one without their tool belt, however, and Ken'ther seems to take that quite literally. It was a bit of a fancier appearance, given its not-so-hidden dagger coupled with a crumpled bit of paper. Clearly, the beauty department had to be made up somewhere.
... and that department couldn't be his face, evidently. His right cheekbone held a scar that slipped down beneath his collarbone, which he took an equal extent of pride and shame in. Long, dissatisfying locks of hair soared down his back and chest in no particular fashion; barely managed by a makeshift ponytail. Dirt was another problem for him. Seen in bundled portions of his face, one would take note he was littered in the mucky arts of the world; the true painted mask of a warrior. If one was fortunate to even come close to this soldier, they'd be pleasantly surprised; for he smelt quite decent in comparison.
The elven man spoke slowly, almost tediously so. His words came out in a drawling fashion with a slight slur, as though something were weighing down the movement of his jaw. His thoughts clearly were not concise, and neither were his gestures. Further evidence of his condition could be seen in his unfocused pupils and the relaxed expression on his face.. Along with that, his body-language and movement is odd to watch: jarring and disjointed as though he were more marionette than elf.
Alexander Verdun: An Alliance commander, known especially well among the Redridge province. The two have shared several skirmishes over recent years, be it at a battles or tournaments.
Katiera Shadowblade: A Kaldorei warrior that Ken'ther lost to at his first Tournament of Ages. Some grudges never die.