• Lurking in the moonlight, shadow a blur. He stares with eyes of a demon, and the blade of a scourge. Wandering without meaning, motion, or call, he knows he's there for the thrill of it all. His blades bite, the stare of might, his guile and silence undetectable, he knows to strike when the time is right, when all else is indispensable. The darkness is ally, the moon is key, the night is deadly, just as his blade's sting. He lurks through the night, doing what he sees as best, the rush of it all, yet he handles the rest.