There are plenty of redcap knights in the world, but Desmond will never be one. That's not to say he hasn't been offered the honor. In fact, he's turned it down more times than he cares to count. He just won't accept it, usually claiming he hasn't yet "earned the right." He's a veteran of more battles, ambushes, and brawls than any three knights one could name but what it will take for him to feel he's ready for knighthood is unknown. Suspicion in certain circles is that it involves moving a mountain, shaking the pillars of heaven, or beating Hercules at his Twelve Labors. Soberer souls think he won't be happy until he gets himself killed in the line of duty but keep such thoughts to themselves.
Currently an itinerant warrior, Desmond moves from embattled court to embattled court offering his services. Those who treat him graciously can expect his help, which is quite impressive. The ones who treat him poorly he leaves to their inevitable fate without a word. And those who seek to capture or slay him? They'd be better off opening their gates to an enemy than angering him.
In his own mind, he has mixed a little of his heritage, a little samurai legendary, and a little classic Arthurian notion of chivalry into a code of honor he uses to reign in his ferocity. Desmond is hardly, though, what anyone would call tame. He insists on eating apart from others at feasts so that he can relax his iron control of himself for at least a little bit. Those who spy in him under such circumstances regret it, at least for a little while. The squire is not fond of his less civilized side and will go to great lengths to hide it from view.
Desmond is tall for a Redcap and unusually broad. His cap is rather dull, all things considered, and no one has ever seen him re-dye it. He generally wears nondescript clothing. His only remarkable item is the short-handled, double-bladed axe he carries and which he swings with great skill and, if called for, delicacy.