...One who drew the eyes and ears of none, a rather plain man who was average in all ways. Should his face ever embrace the light of day, rays of sunlight would first kiss across a dry smirk which dragged along his thin lips. Light bright blue eyes, as the sunlight rose to the apex of his face, would pierce through your very soul with such a gaze filled with chilling conviction. Lowering down his body, the rays revealed his dancing fingertips, resting upon a black tome, his tongue dragged heavily across those lips of his, a voice cracking the silence like twigs, a dry wind would ever so silently dance about, carrying this dry tone swiftly, yet ever so softly and silently, to those ears who would hear, yet the language would be in a tongue no creature in all the realms could possibly dare to distinguish, even those who could read minds. Nodding silently, as he stepped into the night, the rays of sunlight falling into creeping shadow, once more, as the unremarkable man would, once again, return to the shadows, where he belonged. The shadow cloaked him once more, an event, like many, to be forgotten, and lost in the ever silence, once again. To those perceptive, a dim crimson light would emanate and surround the man, cloaking his very presence from all but those with the most discerning scent of smell, sight, hearing, taste, touch. This man ever always remains a mystery, no desire to be noticed. Always sighted near The Arena, silently smirking and eternally challenging his skills in claustrophobic and harsh conditions. The crimson light would perpetually and eternally draw all attention away, his facial features and bodily tones easily forgettable, as was his entire existence, slipping through the fingers of all, even God. Hence, the legacy of Alton, has begun... or has it? You would feel these very vague words slip from your mind, questioning whether a phantom had slipped in and out of your life, or if it had ever been there to begin with... who knew?...