old friend

Portrait
Description
Fast Things:

Name: Kent Benthurs
Former Name: Marcellus Maksimov
Race: Tiefling
Heritage: Abyssal, indeterminate
Age: Indeterminate, appears late twenties
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1''
Weight: ~200 lbs.
Eyes: Crimson irises, bloodshot whites

Something:

The eyes fall upon a dusky skinned male. Race would be indeterminate but one would assume him to be human at first glance. Though as concealments peel away from his face it would be quite obvious there was more to his heritage. Crimson red eyes that hold a perpetual wicked scowl splayed over an angular brow. Those bloody orbs often flickered, shifty sights carrying his gaze to darkened corners. A constant search for something always escaping his sight. His cheekbones pronounced and elevated sloping down into narrow cheeks and a pointed chin. Those dusky lips were often spread into a smug, crooked grin. Lips able to curl back into the far reaches of his cheeks to embed dimples on either flank. His nose too was quite sharp, and held a gentle concave in the bridge before the tip flared back out. Finally, two little nubs of what would once have been horns, both of which situated just above his brow.

Trailing down his body eyes lay upon first broad, full shoulders. Below that are the swellings of toned, and limber biceps. He boasts a solitary tattoo on his right forearm, depicting several illusionary pits. Each pit contained a small face at the bottom, the shadows were realistic even for ink. The faces within were a myriad of masks, two of which were immediately recognized as humour and tragedy. Other depicted similar styles of masks in pain, depravity and bliss, adding up to five in total. The other limb was bare from ink and style, but mirrored the other in taut, defined musculature. Hands were of little note as they were just hands; calloused and worn from labour. His torso was nothing awe inspiring. Taut and sleek bundles of muscle carved deep contours into his back and chest. Those muscles held plenty of detail but lacked in the way of bulk, clumsy strength. His pelvis and legs were tone in a similar way, more suited for running than bracing and kicking.

His body was often adorned in heavy plates. Stifling and cumbersome was his way in this bulk but he seemed to hold a sure step. His visage usually obscured in cowled hood or rigid steel mask. A scarf draped his shoulders and was the base of that constant hood he found himself in. Charms adorned his thick armour and a bandoleer to boost his innate abilities and carry his things. Most of the baubles consisting of limestone or bone and etched with Draconic script. For a weapon he carried a large grea tsword over his back, it was plain and without much marking. A tool, rather than anything ornamental. There is little else to say about the man asides his fondness for black.

Gitchy, gitchy, ooh la la.
Do run, run. You won't get far.
Animals in the midnight zone.
>When you own the world you're always home.
Player:FibGibbler
Gender (Visually):Male
Race (Visually): Human