The man stands at 6'0", a shortly cropped cap of blonde hair gave way to the shaved sides of his head with a face prone to tight expressions that drew out the lines of his age across his forehead, around his fierce blue eyes and to frame his long and oft sternly pinched lips. Alex was a man either too confident or stubborn to be anything but a boulder in the path, he had a penchant for seeking out the same in others, with hard looks and a blunt manner he etched into the bedrock of any matter he put himself into.
His was a deadly grace, the twilight years of his life having left him with the scar-scattered physique of a fighter, and the knack for martial movement. He had a relaxed and careful economy of motion, belying the danger he'd courted and held in his back pocket. Among the assortment of wounds he bore one stands key on the back of the left hand and up his forearm; twisted flesh similar to a burn wound races up from the back of his palm to flare like the waves of a flame dark and even today warm. A mark he had earned in the past, to the knowing it was the symbol of an ancient curse, with the ravage of magic still pulsing in it.