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    ** Human!Tar (for some reason)

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    Tariq
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    ** Human!Tar (for some reason)

    Post  Tariq on Mon Nov 16, 2015 7:28 pm

    He had a penchant for going unnoticed. Few had the opportunity to observe him at any great length; however the longer one looked, the more details could be coaxed from his somber visage.  

    His attire was nothing uncommon, albeit a touch outdated, the styles and colours so similar as to suggest he had long ago decided on his apparel and had little motivation to alter it. Muted colours, soft browns and tones of charcoal and creamy ivory like the gleam of bone dominated his wardrobe, although every now and then a startling splash of crimson or spatter of gold hinted at a mild vanity that belayed the otherwise practical attire. Fabric tightly bound his arms to the wrist and legs to the ankle, although the soles of his feet were often blackened from the peculiar habit of going without shoes. He was very rarely without a black mantle clasped at his throat. It clung often to his upper arms like the wings of a great bat.

    His skin was dark, a rich umber, his body so lean that the muscles could be seen rippling beneath the skin with feline ease. Hidden strength lurked in the broadness of his chest and in the sure gestures of capable hands as though he’d enjoyed martial arts in his youth. It was impossible to guess his age – he was clearly not young, the white hair that most often poured unbound down his back testament enough to that – but his body showed very few signs of aging. It appeared he had enjoyed extraordinary health for most of his life that had spared him the ravages of time.

    He had a clever, if carefully guarded, countenance, his sightlessness only dulling his dark eyes. They appeared black but faintly glinted amber in the light as though they had once been golden. They had an eerie habit of flashing silver at night like a predatory animal. His mouth was sharp and could easily be cruel, but his tone was often soft. He spoke gently, the words clipped as though sheared at the end by his teeth, his accent a rolling breath of indistinguishable origin. His voice tended towards the breathy, a faint rasp from the back of his throat colouring his words with a growl that sharpened when his passions were roused.

    His hands were graceful, his fingers long and sure and unadorned. They were often still, clasped beneath the folds of that dark mantle, but cut the air with their gestures. His blindness, though apparent to all but the most dim-witted observer, seemed to hamper his movement very little. His only concession to his lack of sight was the staff of knotted wood usually found resting in his palm. It was smoothed with use and pitted with age, but the gentleman seemed to attach little sentimental value to it.

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