Look up. The big man here is a smidge short of two metres and would probably have trouble getting through normal-people doors. He's big, built like an athlete, or a fighter, or possibly both. Underneath the messy long brown hair and the rough beard is an angular, almost noble face that's been tanned from time in the sun. His eyes are a dull and remarkably unremarkable grey.
The big guy is dressed rather uncomfortably in traditional beige-and-brown Jedi robes, with boots, cloak, and lightsaber all accounted for. I say 'uncomfortably' because he's constantly adjusting said robes in a manner of discontent. The saber is a simple thing, a foot-long tube mostly obscured by a pair of black handgrips, with hints of gleaming metal out the bottom, in an angle cut-off at the top, and a small sliver in between said handgrips. The buttons are built into the top grip indented such a way that they can't accidentally be pressed.
Davis is an irreverent jokester who always has time for terrible humour, and is overly fond of contests of athleticism or strength.
|Hart Valhoun||The old master. Used to be really cool, but became a stick-in-the-mud when he went zen.|
Davis's lightsaber is a thoroughly practical weapon built like a brick and suited to his two-handed style. It's a long weapon, one foot in length, with the buttons recessed into the top grip so as to avoid any accidental activations/deactivations mid-brawl.