Veylorin moves with a smooth, almost hypnotic grace, his wide-rimmed, soot-black top hat obscuring his lean face in shadow. Red arcane flames coil and flicker just beneath his tattered dark coat, illuminating swirling sigils embroidered faintly in thread of ruby and ash on the fabric’s inside lining. His fingers extend long and slender, tipped by pale, almost translucent nails that seem to absorb light. Despite his ethereal aura, his one exposed eye is a deep amber, sharp and calculating. His boots whisper scarcely on stone, betraying the contradiction of a man who seems both present and intangible, as if he drifts between realities. Occasionally the brim of his hat flickers, revealing momentary glimpses of charred, cracked flesh beneath.