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Poor families perpetuate across Arx and Darby was born to a mother who soon abandoned him with his charming scoundrel of a father. A large babe, then an imposing kid, he was bullying the neighborhood with gusto since he could spit in someone's general direction. Learning was for people who couldn't punch hard enough, and reading and writing fell aside before his other talents, most of which aren't very nice. He spent a life enforcing the wills of others, content to stand in the way of trouble, which has battered and mangled him. Fresh off a sour deal, the last man standing has come to Arx under the verbal impression that he's related to the Grayhopes and that hopefully they will fare better.

Darby looks older than he actually is. He has been subjected to a hard life by accident and by choice. Standing in front of others has left its toll on the hardy man. His head is bald, by choice, the hair there shaved down to the barest stubble late in the day. He wears an eyepatch over his left eye and the strap for it is leather, tied in the back. His remaining eye is a piercing green, beneath a dark-brown, full, brow. His nose has been broken a few times and haplessly repaired. His lips are full and bow-shaped and its possible he might have been attractive if he had made better life choices. His chin is as shaved as his head, with a dimpled chin and wide jaw that meets neatly to his thick neck. There is virtually no distinction between head and neck, one flowing neatly into the other and continuing on to form broad, bulky shoulders. His frame is athletically imposing, with the advantage of a genetic breadth, and the honing of brutal practice. He is shaped like a dangerous barrel. Darby stands an inch above 6 feet, and owns every bit of it. Of note is that his right hand is normally covered in a glove and his left hand is missing the two smallest fingers.

Darby is a heavy. From the top of his bald head to the tips of his worn, leather boots, the man surrounds himself with an intential aura of intimidation. Often silent, when he does speak, it is with a wit born of the gutter. When he stands, he plants. When he sits, he possesses. When another member of his family is around, he is a deferential dog, ready to attack.