Captain of the City Watch

Captain of the City Watch

• The man's appearance serves to emphasize the monolothic nature of the city guard, for he stares with unyielding constancy, his mouth hanging slightly open, his face without expression, the skin fashioned almost from clay, making one think of automatons and fabula. Once he must have possessed a vital energy, but those days are long gone, and now the years have ashened his skin and robbed his frame of its fullness, so that he seems but a shadow come to haunt his former self.
  
  His hair a riot of curls, iron in coloration like the blade of a serviceable weapon, a crown that he is forced to wear despite his obvious attempts to shear it off. An aquiline nose dominates his visage, fine and aristocratic and flanked by twin flaring nostrils. A long braid grows from his chin, thick as his wrist and reaching his sternum. Otherwise his facial hair is cropped close. His eyes are narrow and speak perhaps of a heritage not wholy human, for his irises are patterned strangely and his pupils not perfectly circular. They seem to simmer beneath his low brows, spiteful and bellicose.
  
  Fulminating yet sadistic, he looks at you and scratches at his breeches.
• The man's appearance evokes images of violence, from the hunched tension in his broad shoulders to the menacing and rhythmic manner he has of slowly clenching and unclenching his fists. Once he must have possessed a vital energy, but those days are long gone, and now the years have ashened his skin and robbed his frame of its fullness, so that he seems but a shadow come to haunt his former self.
  
  His hair a riot of curls, iron in coloration like the blade of a serviceable weapon, a crown that he is forced to wear despite his obvious attempts to shear it off. An aquiline nose dominates his visage, fine and aristocratic and flanked by twin flaring nostrils. A long braid grows from his chin, thick as his wrist and reaching his sternum. Otherwise his facial hair is cropped close. Sharp and piercing, his eyes are sunken into high cheekbones but yet retain their authority.
  
  Truculent yet masochistic, he looks at you and arches a brow.
• The man's appearance arouses suspicions of degeneracy, from his sallow skin to the lank greasiness of his hair, calling to mind nights spent in the thrall of wine, dream-spit and catamites. He is shockingly young, and his energy is vital and that of inexperience and enthusiasm, the virile energy of the untried and untrammeled.
  
  His hair is matted mass of locks and knots, a wild revelry of umber waves that seem to defy his every attempt to tame it. His nostrils are voluminous, large enough to insert your thumbs into, a filled with sharp, spiky hairs that would merit the appelation of 'bristles'. He wears a sharp, thickly grown beard that might once have been a mighty growth--recently it was chopped just beneath the jawline, giving his face a severe and harsh frame. Sharp and piercing, his eyes are sunken into high cheekbones but yet retain their authority.
  
  Fulminating yet laconic, he looks at you and arches a brow.
• The man's appearance arouses suspicions of degeneracy, from his sallow skin to the lank greasiness of his hair, calling to mind nights spent in the thrall of wine, dream-spit and catamites. Despite being in the summer of his life, his skin is heavily cut by grooves and lines of tension, as if the burdens he bears bring him to the breaking point.
  
  His hair is of the lightest flaxen hue and pulled back into a luxurious tail that hangs braided down between his shoulder blades, feathers and beads and lucky tokens woven into its mass. A hooked nose of such length descends down the center of his face that it summons images of cunning puppets, their noses reaching down to their chins and hanging right over their lips. He sports the beginning of a beard, faint curls that climb across the length of his jawline and nestle on his upper lip, either the product of a week's growth or the frustrating results of months attempts to prove his manliness. Sharp and piercing, his eyes are sunken into high cheekbones but yet retain their authority.
  
  Placid yet expansive, he looks at you and sighs.
• The man's appearance evokes images of violence, from the hunched tension in his broad shoulders to the menacing and rhythmic manner he has of slowly clenching and unclenching his fists. Time has not been kind to him, for the years weight heavily on his shoulders, pulling them down as if he wears a cloak of lead.
  
  His hair is but an intimation, a few curls about his ears as the clouds might circle the base of a vertiginous mountain, his scalp a torrid mass of scars that interlace like mating slugs where the rest of his hair was seared away. His nostrils are voluminous, large enough to insert your thumbs into, a filled with sharp, spiky hairs that would merit the appelation of 'bristles'. He wears a sharp, thickly grown beard that might once have been a mighty growth--recently it was chopped just beneath the jawline, giving his face a severe and harsh frame. Red rimmed and blurred, his gaze speaks of either long nights spent working at a desk in the smoky light of torches or nights steeped in debauchery and wine, such that his stamina is sapped and his gaze rendered inert.
  
  Despondent yet pedantic, he looks at you and yawns.