Ruddy skin and pale green eyes, a mop of black hair generally unkempt. Savage and direct in thought, a mouth worse than any sailor, he'll cuss and moan his way into your heart - If not, then perhaps with the wild assortment of specialist weaponry scattered about his person. His taste in couture is exquisite, though a recent month of bad luck in fashion accessories has caused him to regress to simple workmans attire.

Despite the brutish grasp of the language, he has at times come across as rather charming. There has always been a palpable presence to the Inspector, a pressure that can be physically felt, and a stone-like gaze that carries with it an absolute and unearthly insight.

It is unfortunate, but the Inspector needs Paridon as much as it needs him. He is in many ways as much its prodigal son as the Lord Maddly, the same being said for any of his companions.