A towering jaluk of many cold smiles and foreboding looks. Anyone familiar with Drow would notice a few anomalies of his being: First being his girth; having almost the proportions of a Draegloth. While other races might consider his height average, in the world below he is a mountain.

Second would be his strikingly pallid features; his flesh not quite so obsidian and onyx as those of his kin. He is rather more blueish-white of hue--almost looking necromantic and yet full of life. It is as if something drained away some of the darkness of his natural flesh, bringing to light his his handsome Elven jawline, gaunt cheeks, and strong chin.

The third anomaly would only be more pronounced by the previous. Bold eyes of ruby red. While that might seem rather ordinary among Drow, there is something undeniable supernatural and unsettling about his. They seem to breathe out malevolence into the world. Trapping some barely tame and infinite fury. They are undoutedly sadistic and seem to cue on to a demonic or otherworldly taint.

Elsewise, his armor-clad features are more standard to warrior males. Bared biceps giving the bulges and impressions of toned muscles lurking just beneath his flesh. Strong hands made calloused by long, countless cycles of training and battle. While he might be muscled, he is also lean and given to the graces of his ancestor Elves. A powerful, but quick fighter.

He keeps his silken hair long but well-maintained. Often tied back to stay from his eyes in battle. Unlike most Drow, his hair seems to be of myriad tones: Mostly white with the bit of gray and black weaved in throughout. His garb and armor is often simple and utilitarian, as well as dyed iin the darker hues that the Drow tend to favor. He wears half-plate, quite literal in the meaning. Torso plated and legs covered in tough rothe leather.

On the surface, he often wears a black traveling cloak and simple, sun-shrouding cowl. Strapped upon his back is burdened a heavy claymore. Dark of metal and scrawled with red, abyssal runes. The vile blade would almost be deterring for the righteous to look at, and terribly painful for them to attempt weilding.

Naked, those gifted with tongues (of the lingual variety) would notice the Drow and Ayssal words tattooed across his bicpes. The words and languages seeming to tangle together in viney patterns. Reading them, they would be some sort of oath. A contract inked into his flesh.