Razi
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MaskThere's a near-permanent furrow between the bold ink-stroke eyebrows that frame his dark eyes, and a subtle weathering of lines at their corners. He is not old, and he moves with the fluidity of youth, but his features are weathered and there's a hint of gray in the stubble that peppers his jaw. His dark eyes are clear and deep, capable of a clarity of vision that pierces, unveils, and unravels. His voice is smooth and measured, with a soft, nothing accent -- but long hours, strong liquor, or strong emotions break the facade to reveal his true voice: rougher, lower, warmer. MienInk flows across the weathered vellum of his skin, leaving features marked in bleeding watercolor. There's a hint of autumn's smoke in the air about him, and a smoldering hint of fire at the crisping edge of his hair, burnt dark. There are words scribed on his skin in dead and forgotten languages: forged by ink, forged by blood, forged by soul. HISTORY HERE
CONTACTS HERE
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