Sidling towards you is a pitiful figure of a man. Hunched over and glancing askance at the world over a mis-shapen shoulder, there seem few redeeming features to him. Lank, thin hair hangs to his chin in dull black strands, obscuring his face. His face is streaked with dirt and dried blood - which, judging by the oozing gashes on his face, is probably his own. A red ridge of raised flesh surrounds his eye, encompassing his left cheek. It seems to be a branding of some sort, imposed by the application of a hot iron. He snivels slightly and absently fingers the old scar as he goes about his business. Dirty, dishevelled clothes do little to hide an emaciated body, and the overall impression of a pathos is only increased by the slight limp in his left leg.