To most, a stranger is a variable; an unknown. Those would be all wrong terms to call this person. He appears almost in perfect harmony with himself, radiating agility and moving with impeccable and unrestrained movements. If not at peace with himself, he seems at peace with his surroundings, as if he was a gust of wind rather than flesh and bone. The tell-tale signs of battle upon his otherwise perfectly poised body are the only testament to his mortality.

The unwavering gaze in his eyes stretches on for miles at a time, always in search for something that isn't. A scar horizontally placed upon his face would render such vigilance a necessity at worst. His hair is done in a knot in what appears to be a rather traditional hairstyle. He appears to carefully carry with him an equipment atypical to most warriors, all twined neatly at the pleats of his garments, which appear to be of exotic origins. They all sport the artisanship of a faraway master, shrouded in mystery and elegance.