It's not every day one sees a Drow basking in sunny daylight. It's even more uncommon for said Drow to be floating and have a giddy disposition about him. But, the reality being what it is, this is just the case. Out of time and place, pushing himself into view is a male Drow appearing to be in a state of constant flux, one minute wearing a frown full of dishumor, contempt visible in his eyes. The next, they seem to water at the seams and a barely-contained grin threatens to split his face as if he was just told the funniest joke he heard in a decade. Some would find the laughter he lets out unnerving; it has a background noise to it that sounds like two metals grinding in the back of your head. It feels innocent and yet invasive.

His hair is shoulder-length but unkempt and riddled with knots. While his skin would generally show signs of the long travel he has been subjected to, his face remains rather clean.

His state of mind being what it is, you seem to glean much more background from addressing his person, than to address him personally. His robes are the type of attire a practitioner of the arcane arts would typically wear, as they permit the wearer the use of somatics in their spellweaving without sacrificing mobility or coverage. All in all, the various patchwork, grime, stains and damage place the age of the robe, belt, and the various assortment of trinkets affixed to it to be very old. Vials and baubles seem to be attached to his belt, along with mechanical parts one would rig for various contraptions and traps. While most studious of the arcane would rely on wits or their charm to perform feats of magic, it appears this one favors a cunning approach. Interestingly enough, run along with his attire several dim-looking runes seem to flare a light when he laughs.