"Cook, farmer, smithee, carpenter, thatcher...Y'know what? A jack-o-all-trades is simpler." -Aradrian

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The man you see has dark unkempt hair and a well groomed beard (minding a few gray stray whiskers that worked their way out). His gentle bearing is a harsh contrast against his dark brown eyes that have seen too many long nights. Despite that, he is always wearing a look of laboring determination, thought his eyes shift often, leaving one to wonder if he's confused or paranoid; Aradrian will explain that he's placing his bets on some unwaged bet.

It is good that he has the build of someone capable of handling whatever that hand might be-- his hands are calloused, his shoulders broad, and his clothing tattered. All but the cloak strung over his back, which proudly displays the sigil of his birthplace: Breeland.

When he speaks, his thick Bree-lander's accent trails his every word. A voice that is soft, deep, and yet auspicious in nature. A voice that carries hard conviction of an aloof man that seems to know his luck is about to change for the better, regardless of the consequences. 

Luck seems to usually be on the side of Aradrian Pumpkinweed. So much that those who know of him or were unfortunate enough to wage a bet against him have labeled him:

                                            "Fortune's Friend"