A mess of blonde hair that juts out in wild angles and hangs around his face in wild messy locks. They frame a delicate, if a little too feminine, face of high cheekbones, broad flat nose, and rounded chin. The only truly remarkable thing about this young man's face are his wide, ice blue eyes. His mouth is small and generally set in a warm smile. He is of slight build and statue, standing only a nod over five feet in height.
He's wearing a delicate, well made tunic of silver with gold lace around the throated collar and wrists. It is tucked into a fine pair of black breeches with the same gold lace down each outside leg. A pair of well worn, but shiny knee high boots complete the main ensemble. A simple belt with a pouch and a small hunting knife rounds him out completely.
Giroux was born at Ista Hold as the son of the Lord Holder. Normally this would entail a life of relative ease and grooming towards the role of becoming heir to his father's Holdings, but Giroux was born as the third son of his father's prolific coupling with his mother and so while Giroux got the breeding, education, comfort and discipline of the son of a Lord Holder he did not get the opportunity to expand himself like his older brothers.
Giroux's childhood was happy and the young man learned how to read and write at a relative young age and most of the time he found himself lost in the many scrolls and books of his family's library. As he grew it became increasingly clear that he wouldn't inherit his father's larger size as his two older brother's had. He, however, was still instructed to head outside and work along the hold. His father didn't hold his sons above the chores of those that worked at the Hold and each lad had to learn how the less fortunate than they lived and worked. Giroux did as well as he could and while he didn't grow larger he did become extremely strong for his size and could generally handle himself against his older brothers.
As he moved into his teen years, Giroux found himself becoming more and more restless and was allowed (begrudingly) by his father and mother to travel Pern to see if he could find himself or his proper place in Pernese society.
Changing Defeat to Victory Bronze Zimraith
A low-slung body gives this dark-hued dragon a lurking presence, almost serpentine in the muscular body hung between neck and tail - though the legs which support him, the talons curved on each foot, make it clear enough this is no snake. He's made, it seems, of blackened steel, his electrum gleam hidden away beneath a darkened mein. In some places the shadows seem to have rubbed away; his eyeridges are tinged with sanguine red like glowering brows, and there are plates of tarnished brass on his chest. His knees and paws show brighter as if their more frequent use has rubbed away the machine oil worked in elsewhere on his form to keep careless light from revealing his shine. His thick talons are dark metal, too shadowed to gleam until it's too late. Along his dark-stained back are his wings - wide rather than long, squared sails that tend more toward power than agility. They're dark like the rest of him, but their spars are paler than the sails, limned in brass like knees and paws. He has a long tail, the fork at its end solid and widely splayed so that it almost resembles a double-headed hammer.