Name: The Crimson 
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Something foxy
Concept: Avenging shadow
Fur: Black, lightly peppered with stray grays
Eyes: Yellow
Height: 5'8
Weight: 110 lbs



What do people see when they glance at you?
The Crimson, despite his moniker, dresses exclusively in black and gray, favoring hooded robes and flowing combat sashes.  Between combat wraps around his arms and feat, and a simple sash pulled over much of his face, the only parts of The Crimson's actually body that are typically visible are his cone-shaped ears and bright yellow eyes.  He rarely exits his stooped combat stance, even when there is no apparent danger.

What will people find out if they ask around about you?
Not a lot.  A number of humans either attempting to harass non-humans or in service of those who do so politically have been rendered unconscious and marked with The Crimson's sigil glowing an angry red on their foreheads.  He hasn't killed anyone yet, but a few close calls were only saved by timely intervention.

What will people find out if they talk to you?
The Crimson is...intense.  He tends to let eye-contact and pauses linger a little longer than most people find comfortable, his own expression hidden by the veil over his face.  He doesn't speak much, though when he does his voice is half-growl.

What will people find out if they look into your past?
The Crimson has begun plaguing human centric rhetoric for a few weeks now; he launches a barrage of of blades, fangs, and shuriken made from crackling magical energy with equal devastation.  He seems to appear and disappear into the darkness at a whim, sometimes even using same as yet another weapon in his arsenal.

His tactics vary as much as his arsenal; one day The Crimson might strike from distant shadows, other times he's rushed in all fangs with his shuriken gripped tightly between his fingers to slash up close.  He does prefer the later hours in the day, but once or twice has simply called up a cloud of darkness and attacked from within while the sun yet shone.