The Marauder Waits . . .
Collective in thought, administered savvy tactics are always remotely mind driven on natural born instincts. Perseverance perpetually holds reservation amongst aged noble lineage. Exasperation rarely becomes visible in raw display. Furtive contentment always mirrors his obscured facade. Danger shows no limits behind a political, craftsmanship smile which lures unwanted solicitors inside.. Imperial, daylight-inspired reflections prudently blend in with nocturnal seclusion. Seven cornrow silver color braids uniquely define method of chosen hairstyle, on occasion its released and free flowing exuberant follicles become unshackled. Translucent eyes of speckled crimson penetrate through the condemned ignorance of others; insouciant electric burning hues regularly discharge virile obsession. Boasting a statuesque 6’7″ in height and fueling weight of 248 lbs, seemingly ancient charcoal-hued robes masquerade armed mischief. Sporadically, ancient crimson robes containing gold stitch etchings on each loose-end are prominently worn. Composed and dignified, he attempts to maintain the high standard of a gentleman and scholar amidst the waking inferno of his self-imposed Sheol. Throughout centuries, he remains the inseminate quasi-Father.. the rest …his effulgent children.
“Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiae fuit.”
There has not been any great talent without an element of madness.