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The illegitimate son of a nobleman and a serving girl who was released from service when she became pregnant - at least, if you believe a word of anything he says - Raymesin's mother died when he was just a few years old, abandoning him to a life in the Lower Boroughs. At first he just about survived, but over time he started to thrive, taking to his new life as though he'd been born to it. Before he reached his teens he was recruited by the Ulbran family to serve as a lookout and thief; by the time he turned eighteen he'd learned how to use a knife, and how to kill. Since then he's been working as an enforcer for the family, doing the things that need to be done, and he's recently returned from a job that took him elsewhere for a little while.

Standing taller than six and a half feet, this man is as thin as the proverbial rake. The sharp angles of his pale-skinned face accentuate large eyes of cold, pale blue, and high cheekbones and hollow cheeks lend him a brooding air. His hair is jet black with receding temples and streaks of silver, kept long enough to touch his shoulderblades and often tied at the back of his neck with a thong. The rest of his body follows the elongated, slender and angular rule; his limbs are long, his fingers are dextrous, and there's little spare fat on him.

There's something just a little off about Raymesin, even for a Lower Boroughs man. His gaze is just a little too intense and his smile rarely reaches his eyes, leaving the impression of a man wearing a mask of flesh over his real face. A survivor, he adapts to suit the situation; his rage is quick to stir, but there's always loyalty at the core of him.