The evening light illuminating the tops of the caving ceilings and uneven ground gave the slums a strange sense of beauty. It was by no means enough to cover the fact that this mud was possibly a mixture of dung and a cannibal's pie filling, of course. Perhaps a more fitting term would be, easier on one's eyes. Not for Vinser. His emerald eye squinted in protest to the bright light, wings tucked against his back and tail twitching with annoyance.
This was a man of average height and a lithe build, skin a healthy tone of sepia. The surface of his skin, however, bore marks that resembled cracking ice, the edges of the "cracks" glowing with a faint yellow-green. Shoulder-length midnight-blue hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and two obsidian noserings were settled in his right nostril. His attire wasn't his everyday ilk, not as well made, easier to replace, but not shabby. Hands slipped into his slack pockets, where he could feel thin blades hidden in the fabric for him to swiftly grab, and flat throwing blades pressed snug to his torso between a black vest and brown button-down shirt. The biggest difference were the dark leather boot, more fitting for muddy roads. And chasing prey. While he had a posture of a calm, perhaps even agreeable man, the chill of evil ran up the spine of most whom he passed by, leaving behind a scent that at first was enticing, until one realised it reminded them of death.
Vinser wasn't fond of visiting the slums, if only because of the smell and the number of thugs he countlessly had to teach a lesson. Someone, however, had been following him. Not closely, but he'd noticed their presence a number of times the past few days. If they wished to close the space between themselves and Vinser, bodies were easier disposed of here rather than a well-off city. Plenty of vagabonds he could pin the evidence to. But, hopefully, neither he nor his secret admirer would resort to bloodshed. Given his occupation, sadly, the chances were slim.
