The aroma of the ocean saturates the air - its source perpetuating from this dirty looking male Duergar. His cockeyed gaze is discomforting at first, but eludes to the explanation of his abnormally distasteful appearance. Mixed with the familiar smell that can only be found in Demea, are great odors of molding meats and stains of blood. His pants, striped with orange and white, are shredded and cut just below the knees to reveal the two legs he stands on - one of wood, the other his own. His legs are shoulder-width apart and offset, mimicking an unfamiliar stance, while his upper body torques about, allowing his poor visibility to better scan his surroundings. His shirt is in no better shape than his pants; slashed in the front from the collar half way down, a very robust, dark skinned, and hairy chest is revealed. The combination of sweat and water collect on the surface and hair of his chest and arms, reflecting whatever light fills the room towards you. His left hand firmly secures a ceremonial sickle, partially sheathed on his left hip while still a dark dagger dances wickedly in his right hand, as he constantly reverses his grip on it. Yet, despite his obvious ignorance of self-awareness and poor decor, this Duergar stands here among the rest of Thera now.