You see the tall and slender 6'4" man before you, his unkept her dark raven black with streak of grey running through them, his skin tan, kept in the sun too long. He wears antiquated armor, rusted over and damaged, old and tattered rags seen underneath it and tying the components together. From the holes on the back of his armor two dark brown wings extend, flapping in the air from time to time, the ruffled feathers moving on the wind. Long dark beard extends from his horribly scarred face, unkept and uncombed. Three long sweeping scars run diagonally across his face, the man slashed by some clawing creature. Other parts of his face are covered in random slashes and toothmarks, large portion of his left cheek mising, leaving a visible leatheyr cleft in his face and a thin membrane over his cheek and cheek bone. The rest of his body is not in much better shape, covered in scars from claws, arrows, and swords, as well as permanent bruises. His bock is jutted with a frenzy of scars after a fierce, or possible a series of horrible, whippings. From below his thick eyebrows look on you the two grey eyes. They look with stern and weary look of one that experienced much. Yet, somehow, there is peace and serenity in them, purged from anger and hatred.