If you were a poorsighted human and were seeing him from afar, you might think he was a hooded human boy of 13.

 

If you were a better watcher,  you would notice the grace on his steps, his connection to his bird, the  way he spoke. A young elf.

 

If you were an old battle veteran, you might notice how he walked... like he was expecting an atack anytime.

 

If you were an expert watcher, you might notice the way he watched you... not like he was judging you... It was a sad look.... a pitying look. 

He is silent, and calm.

But thats just apparent. The thinnest layer of his soul.

More Deeply there's Sorrow. Fear. Despair.

 

But at the very core of his soul, hidden to all, even himself, there is something else.

Anger. Hatred. Death.

 

There are some...peculiar things about him. His colourless eyes. The way he sometimes says things that will eventually happen. His medallion. And what a strange medallion. Made of a strange metal similar to mithril, with a lock... this elf completly ignores it. Not in an intended way... its as if he didnt know of its existance, yet its in his pocket.

 

He knows much about poisons and herbs. He knows much about other things too. Perhaps too much?

 

There are many things unanswered about him. His colourless eyes. His medallion. His knowledge of poisons and herbs. but most important of all... his identity.

 

People call him the Nightingale. Perhaps because of his bird. Perhaps.