Lawrence of the Arum Eye
A large man who seems to fill the space he is in. His craggy features are always lit up with a smile and he seems to have a mischevious glint in his one working eye.
Looking beyond the mask, Lawernence seems to be made of muscle, with a toothy (or tusky as the case may be) grin. The one eye at the centre of his head seems to shine, his gold pupil always focussed on the person talking to him. His massive meaty hands and arms like a body builders fling about while he talks, gestures trailing csmoke through the air from his usual cigar.
The current Vernal Sovreign is a satisfied man. He owns a huge chunk of the Nottingham entertainment scene and is rich off the proceeds.
Unlike his contemporaries, he has no interest in temporal power. Whenever his term is, he tends to leave people be until they do something to upset the harmonious running of the Freehold.
No-one knows what happens in his chambers, the VIP room of his favourite club, whenever someone who breaks the peace is brought in. There is hushed conversation then the lawbreaker exits, looking chastised and guilty. There is usually some public penance but it is lighter than the other sovereigns would levy. The perpatrators never speaks of the back room conference but whenever it is brought up, the least subtle amoung them look slightly guilty at whatever happened in there.
There is only one known way to put Lawerence in a foul mood, which is ask about his durance. Typically he will throw the person who asked out (usually literally) and be in a foul temper for the rest of the day. Next day, he is as he normally is, as though nothing ever happened.