A figure that could only be the result of the current chaos that engulfs the Rookery and Old Town of Blacksteel. This man shrouds himself in a grey skull mask and dark black hood and cloak, little visible of his features save for a pair of lifeless and dull grey eyes rimmed with soot.

He stands at just over six foot, a relatively common and unexceptional height in the City, with a frame composed of lean and agile, taut muscle. His stance is usually tense, primed and ready- either a result of paranoia, vigilance or merely an unhinged mind is hard to say. He moves with a driven gait, more akin to a stalking cat than a person, yet apparently lacks any sense of stealth or guile- it is hard to sneak around in studded leather armour, after all. A scabbard houses a thin blade on his hip.

The queer fellow favours tight and considerable plain leathers, and seems to keep himself clean enough despite the entirely odd attire.


Should one see him unmasked, it's easy to note his unhealthily pale, even grey skin. Vemrin favours his jet black hair closely cropped, and a well trimmed goatee to complement the harsh and angular features of his face.