A man near the end of his prime, Torchanar has nearly black hair, streaked with some grey and a stubbled salt and pepper scruff as he cannot grow a decent beard which is common among his kind. His grey eyes are still keen and bright as steel, set in a weathered face that has seen long years. His expression carries the weight of his burdens, the duty of his people to keep the oath sworn long ago. Often found with a furrowed brow, deep in thought, he is not one quick to smile though he has a dry and dark sense of humor that has kept him going in the bleakest of days. Physically, he is a tall man like all Dunedain, standing around 6'4'' and has a lean hard body sculpted by constant arms training and the physical exertion of the countless miles he has put under his boots. 

Torchanar dresses in the drab browns, greys, and dull greens that would hide him in the wild. Leather and chainmail armor masked with woolen strips to muffle the noise, the only thing on his person that would mark his station is the bright silver seven pointed star worn on his breast, mostly hidden by the folds of his heavy cloak. His boots are made of supple and strong, waterproofed leather with thick flexible soles made for walking and running long distances. 

He bears a long sword on his hip, an heirloom of his line passed down from his father and grandfather and beyond. It is kept sharpened to a fine edge, and held in a worn leather and wooden scabbard, the decorative hilt wrapped in sweat stained leather. Torchanar carries a long knife on the other side, mostly used for last resort in a fight or as a utilitarian tool. He also uses a bow as most rangers, relying on stealth and silence rather than a face to face confrontation. When that cannot be avoided, he often leads the charge as his age and experience makes him a likely commander though most rangers bear no rank but the captains. 

(banner is edited by me, original work from http://woutart.deviantart.com/art/Rangers-of-the-North-108544747 )