Old Arlandrian legends say that the body and mind of a Faerla is always in a struggle with its dual nature; that of the old in the Faewild, and that of the new in Rhyst. The man in front of you, however short he is at his height of 5'5, serves as a symbol of that duality. Celestial hair streaks and waves behind him with a life of its own. Every step is filled with an unnatural grace and balance, as if blessed by some proper deity who wished to see him unable to act anything but perfect. Bright orange eyes flair in their gaze, wary and reckless alike.

With each new look, a new implanted flaw and fascination are found - and the more despairing he seems at his lot, attempting to push back against the fabric of his being to little avail at best. Movements turned languid and stiff are made graceful once more, and underneath that forced-calm facade is a tangible rage at what has consumed him and that which he once loved.

One gets the sense that the stars may not be so merciful when wielded by him.