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Salvatore was a younger son, and like many younger sons for whom the priesthood is an uninteresting option, he chose war, and he chose it whole-heartedly. He married young, out of duty, to a young woman who was born in the Isles. They weren't entirely a match but neither were they entirely a mismatch; neither madly in love nor at each other's throats. She never was interested in taking up arms, but engrossed herself in the diplomatic tensions of Gemecitta, particularly the tangled problem of House Zaffria and House Rubino. When she died, he never entirely believed that it was not because of some misstep in relation to Duchess Liavetta or Duke Giovanni. Still, she was dead, and he was left with an eight-year-old girl to raise. Fine. Salvatore mostly set her aside to the care of her nurses and threw himself all the harder into his duty. He was a horseman; he was a leader; he was a warrior; the more time he was forced to spend in politics, the more he was convinced he was terrible at them. He never was a particular fan of Duke Marco and his insipid blood, so he was wary about his daughter's rise to power. Yet Duchess Sylvie's grace and competence have been undeniable since her accession, and his close blood tie to his own niece, Lady Dafne, who has been made Voice, combined with this to secure and solidify his loyalty. Like many of the older Zaffrias and Rubinos, he's still not really sure about this unity thing. But with the banners called and an abyssal war on the doorstep, who is Salvatore to disagree?

There's a scar that marks the corner of Salvatore Zaffria's mouth, lending him an air of permanent disreputability; a permanent almost-sneer. The white mark runs down his chin, making his scruff -- when it grows -- inevitably patchy. This mar to otherwise rugged good looks is echoed by another scar that barely misses his left eye. This is a face that has seen some shit. Thick black hair is largely kept short, which keeps it tame. His eyes are an intense, vivid blue, his nose bold, his jaw strong. He is broad-shouldered and strongly built, kept in trim condition, though the network of scars that shows across his chest and back when he's undressed reveals more of that same hard use that his face shows.

Gruff, rough and tumble, cynical: Salvatore was never a particularly typical Lycene gentleman. He is not entirely without subtlety. Rather, he possesses enough of it to know when it is appropriate to dispense with it and when it is not. War and blood and death have marked him repeatedly, and trust is not a commodity with which he is hasty. The soft gooey center at the middle of this hard candy shell is, of course, his love for his daughter and his deep need to provide for his family. He has a weak spot for other young people as well that may not be that difficult for others to exploit.