|Current Home||Ista Weyr|
|Place of Birth||Bitra Hold|
The eye might naturally be drawn to his own as a fitting starting point. Lucid green, those eyes are; bright and clear and full of both color and life. They're dangerously vibrant - or, perhaps, just dangerous in their quickness to share a wink or drop half-lidded with unspoken amusement. His eyebrows are dark and angled, perilously expressive to match his lips. His features seem to be sculpted with an eye toward handsome angularity rather than square-jawed masculinity. The exotic addition of a five o'clock shadow and fine mustache - all exquisitely groomed, of course - only further highlights the particulars of his features. His is aquiline aristocracy with a bend to his nose that mutters of some past injustice.
His hair is the only unruly part of him and, even then, the casual tangle of black that crowns his head serves only to underscore just how calculated everything about him is. His every move suggests efficiency and a measured need for control, but is executed with such flawless, innate grace that one is left with more questions than answers in his presence. There's an unnerving sense of languid ease about him that seems impossible - and, yet, undeniably true.
His long-fingered hands are smooth and dexterous, implying plenty about his lifestyle - but never quite confirming the particulars. The rest of his body is much the same, whipcord muscle and sinew woven tightly together to turn him into a deceptively designed powerhouse. To lend further confusion to his nature, his skin is a dusky bronze - either proof of his outdoor proclivities, or of a genetic blessing that permits a much more indoor lifestyle. His grace lends a peculiarly predatory aspect to his otherwise relaxed seeming; nothing is quite as it seems, least of all those things which should be undeniable.
His clothing only accentuates that physique, with a tightly fitted black tank-top clinging to his upper body and ensuring that no question can be made of his fitness. A pair of comfortably fitted shorts claims his lower half, while sandals provide some measure of protection against the ground. An Ista Weyr knot can usually be found on his person somewhere - if not the shoulder then, surely, at his hip on a belt - and he is rarely without a leather knapsack - or a deck of cards.
"Oh, you want to know about me, eh? Heh. Not much to tell, sweetheart. I don't know my mother or father - but, really, who does? I was raised with the rest of the Hold brats back in Bitra and I'd like to think I turned out okay. Not great, you know, but great's overrated. I'm good. I'm alive. I can hold my own - if you know what I mean."
"The rest of the story? Like I said, there's not much to tell. I was a pain in the neck to the nannies. I was a bigger pain to some of the bookies. So, you know - you learn to read the writing on the wall, doll. I took a gamble and won, except I lost pretty badly at the same time. Not a great situation all around, but - well, you remember what I said about 'great'."
"Anyway. I paid some visiting rider to take me anywhere he damn well pleased, anywhere that wasn't there. He took me here. Ista Weyr's not great, but…"
None that he knows of!