*There he is. One should have known he was comming by the chill that crept across the skin right before he was noticed. That Baleful Aura (Flaw) a constant and unforgettable reminder he exists and brings the Inevitable with him. That quiet sense of Death in the air around like like poison gas. Grim is the Reaper this night. Wearing his old black duster, which looks gray at first glance because of all the writting in white pen on it. The scrawlings of a disturbed soul. Across the back reads in scratchy block letters. "YOUR PRETTY FACE SINGING FROM HELL" Everything else he wears is simple. Black t-shirt, black jeans, hitched up with a silver buckle; a silver heart, worn and ragged boots. Oddly enough he wears a black silk glove only on his left hand. His silver rings on each finger worn over it. Both hands adorned thus. Each ring bearing a sigil except for the one on his left ring finger which is delicately decorated. Rich auburn hair, reaching to his shoulders. Glinting silver earings nearly hidden by it. And then his face catches the eye. Oh, god his face. Falling somewhere between repulsive and Awe inspiring. Some would say he's Handsome by his features. The Androgenous smooth jawline, full wine stained lips, Pale fair skin. Oh, but it is so COLD. His face might as well be a porcelain mask hiding what he really looks like. For the look in his dark hollowed Hazel eyes is, to put it mildly, Damoclean. Spine-chilling. The Undertaker has a mission, and whatever it is, undaunted strength of will shall see it done. Nothing and no one shall stand in his insufferable way. Is he here to take your soul? Has the Usher come for you in the guise of this Numinous young man?*
