The portrait is old, many of the inks and paints running with the ages of time eating at their consistency for the depiction. It's a younger man, notable by the strange orange glow to his eyes. Clearly, there's something other than human ancestry; but none too fiendish by the distinct lack of a baleful hue in the gaze. So, what then? What could possibly have muddied his heritage to have such a strange molten color, seeming more like magma than gold; like the dying embers of a campfire.

His hair was darker then, too. Still an odd sheen of ocean blue, and now when seeing him, it retains a silvery cobalt; but it is not stricken with an elderly age. It's almost glacial; like it's sculpted of ice and snow. When he speaks, it is as soft as a fresh coat of snow, but stronger and more relentless than any frozen sea. Airy, his voice can carry with just a whisper.

Standing tall, and fit, his physique is kept behind layers of clothing like the world is much colder and he can never just warm up. Which is entirely too odd! A handshake would show that his fingers are never so icy, though the grip is as biting as the tundra.

This enigma of a man has a name; Felwinter. He's come looking for someone posing as himself, causing trouble and staining his name; relentlessly tracking the blood of a younger brother than brought dishonor to his House.
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~Lights~
Generally will go with the flow. Has no gender preference, though leans toward more effeminate creatures.