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Born to a rather poor family on the Mourning Isles, Egon had spent his youth as a sickly boy, incapable of aiding his family in much of their day-to-day living. The family was large; his four siblings had quickly learned to take care of themselves and eventually forged their own paths with some of them, namely his brother Maris, following the path of their fisherman turned sellsword father. Egon had kept to himself during his youth, looking inward rather than outward for inspiration. As days turned to years, he had eventually grown out of his sickly phase into a relatively hale individual and spent the majority of his teens at home, taking up various practices and disciplines in an attempt to aid his destitute mother. Life was difficult on the Isles, and, coupled with his odd appearance, it was made isolating. Despite it all, he had learned a great deal from its harsh lessons. After a time, his mother had decided that he needed to leave for Arx with the hope that he could find a better life there than what was available to him.

Unusually blanched skin, akin to that of bleached bone or burnished alabaster, encapsulates the strapping figure of this youth. No worry lines, cicatrices, pockmarks, or any other such significant disfigurements mark his flesh, leaving him with a strikingly clear complexion. Tumbles of champagne-blonde hair surmount his head, ending in cirrus-like tendrils that, when left to grow out, can frame his visage and reach far to his shoulders. A pair of effulgent, spectral violet eyes, set beneath finely-threaded brows, hold the world in a nebulous gaze, like bottomless pools that reflect nothing but a vacuous darkness from within the spacey apertures of his pupils. Thin, pinkish lips lay shadowed by a narrow nose. His countenance possesses the qualities of a refined patrician whilst also being imbued with certain sylphlike aspects: hard angular contours suffused with more slender features. All these facets of his physiognomy juxtapose against the decidedly brawny physique the man possesses: thewy arms, robust shoulders, sturdy chest, and a well-knit frame constitute him.

Egon Maw is a wall: nothing seems able to breach whatever defenses he has set up for himself. Dour and almost irrevocably cynical, he seems more an old man disappointed with life rather than the still burgeoning youth that he is. Yet, it is hardly overt. Everything about him seems vague and unformed as if there might be something more that's hidden just beneath the surface, or perhaps nothing at all.