Riagnon's black hair is cropped short, suggesting a general lack of any particular vanity. With a dappling of freckles crossing the bridge of his nose, his facial features carry with them a lingering boyishness. Physically, Riagnon is more sinewy than bulk... and noble though he may be, it ought to be clear that he is accustomed to hard work and harsh terrain.
Riagnon's propensity for gawkish acts of unintentional slapstick-sabotage knows no bounds, often involving a gangly elbow or the ill-placed toe of his boot. In life, he moves like a yet unbroken colt, unable to regulate his pace. There are days when his betters are surprised that he can even manage to stand on his own and others when he bolts forward into action, burning quickly and bright.
The youngest son of Lord Rognan Nightgold, Riagnon was predominantly brought up as a ward of Farhaven as many children of esteemed vassals have been before him. From the age of thirteen onward, he learned to fight and hunt in the untamed northern wilderness as some unlucky prince's squire. His presence in Arx, and the subsequent swearing of fealty to his sister and House Acheron, comes on the heels of a freshly annulled and shockingly short-lived marriage -- a failed attempt to draw a particularly unfriendly Abandoned chieftain with significant military resources into bending the knee.
Humbled and with his tail between his legs, Riagnon has yielded to She Who Knows Best. Sure, he'll bolster the numbers of her march... if it means he has somewhere safe to lick his wounds. He just really wishes she'd change that sigil.