Nature has a tendency to paint its deadliest creatures in garish palettes. It had not let Mesteno slip by without dipping its brush in the most violent of its hues and crowning him with it, a 'do not touch,' a prohibition for everything that might want a taste.
And it seemed to have designed the rest of him as if to encourage precisely that.
Mesteno was not a handsome man, but he was striking, arresting for the way his imperfections chimerically embraced one another. He’d a feline’s efficient elegance in a starved wolf’s frame, a hawk’s keen, inexorable scrutiny and a snake’s sinuous flexibility. Slim as a blade, the architecture of his body was one of sharp edges and the kind of rigid musculature that came of harsh living with too little sustenance. He’d a physique pared of all excess, streamlined to a lithe, athletic minimalism. Lean and long limbed, tall but not looming.
Recklessness had made a ruin of it early. His scars were abstract furrows and ridges cutting through the topography of his lean anatomy, unlovely reminders of each occasion he hadn’t quite been quick enough. In Rhy’Din, such things might easily be banished, but he kept them like auto-admonition. A reminder to do better next time.
Sun-darkened skin hinted towards a Mediterranean heritage, at odds with the blood and gold hair he wore invariably long. Eyes brightly golden as newly minted coins seemed Helios touched, and come nightfall, a predator’s nocturnal gleam was all too readily apparent. A heavily angular jaw line was offset by a hedonist’s mouth made too full, hinting towards cruelty and sensuality in equal measure.
He’s a necromancer of some considerable skill, accomplished in shadow manipulation, application of entropy and utilisation of soul energy, but usually if there’s combat to be had he prefers to use his fists or a blade, resorting to firearms if necessary. He works freelance but has a reputation in Rhy’Din’s underworld as an interrogator, killer, black market dealer and general go-to man for acquiring information.