Something feels both very familiar, and very off about him. Even to the mundane Sinfarian and common citizen, Janus feels like he should be on the isles and yet... He shouldn't. Like him being here is a sleight against everything natural, a cardinal sin against every deity to grace the Faith. But it feels so wrong, in the gut, in the knees to say he belongs anywhere else.

Black hair like a midnight sky that somehow manages to both be a little wavy and a little straight, he wears a smile that's charming and innocent yet it contains an arrogance that only youth can provide. A warm glow in his bright green eyes reflects the nature of some elven heritage somewhere in his veins, muddled and twisted with something else. Something distant and foreign.

His pale skin is smooth and unblemished, practically flawless with alleged immortality; yet he still bleeds if something manages to cut through that leathery hide. Even when torn asunder, though, the Elvish youth can only just smile and laugh as though he doesn't feel the lance of pain burning through his nerves. Maybe he doesn't?

Sporting an athletic physique, he's got abs for days and desert nights that you could grind your meat or someone else's on. Broad shoulders that narrow and taper down into a fine waist where whatever pants he's wearing barely cling to his hips, even with a slapdash belt slung across them.

Laid back, he's insufferably tall for someone who appears so elvish; towering over most people like him.

And that face! Oof, how could we forget something that looks so boyish it's nearly effeminate, despite what his body is screaming otherwise.

Don't worry, he might have caught you scoping him out. He's absolutely shameless about it, too, when he's checking you out just as easily; a knowing little smirk tucking his lips' corners upward.