He stood about five foot ten, and he had the hard, slender build that he'd once heard described as 'an assassin's build.' His skin was only slightly bronzed, and only remained that way due to his frequent ventures in the sun; it seemed to only take a few days out of the sun for his skin to lose its glow and pale until it matched the moon. He'd already tied his long hair back, the tail falling almost to the middle of his back, smoothed and held in place with a light application of scented oils. His attire for the day was somewhat simple, a long-sleeve black shirt over black pants, which were themselves bloused over polished black boots, the metal pinnings strikingly silver against the leather. Aside from his boots and the toggles for his shirt, there was little silver to be seen in his outfit, a stark contrast to his father, who had gloried in the unique 'challenge' of finding new combinations to keep the black and silver balanced. And at his hip, his weapon, a long, slender sword, its guard a pair of leaping wolves, two snakes curling up to form the grip before the pommel split into a ring, a smoothly-polished black stone set into the ring, the snakes' heads to either side, along the flat of the sword, sheathed in an ebony-wood scabbard.
