-Standing 5'10" or so, he's slender to the point of being scrawny. But the surety of his step commends him more towards being 'wiry' and 'lithe'. Garish spikes of flaming blood red hair falling to his waist add at least another 4 or 5 inches to his height. Brushing against him would be ill*advised, tight leathers and armwarmers covered as they are in spikes, studs, and jaggity bits. Sharp, androgynous features and the slight cant to his piercingly dark eyes point towards Asian ancestory, but the Irish lilt to his voice states otherwise. He couldn't be much more than 22 or so, and the words 'Rebel Badass' just seem to be stamped all over him. This is reflected in the dark depths of his eyes, where one swears they can see the carnage of battles past, miles upon miles of fields awash in the vital essence of the fallen, should they feel brave enough to peer overlong into them-

-in the eyes of The Dreaming, young Karasu... Macha's Battlecrow... ripples with whipcord muscle along shoulders and arms, fingers ending in talons stained with old blood. What is only a few dark feathers sprinkled throughout his hair in his Mortal guise now becomes a long fall of oily plummage saturated with the blood of warriors and invaders. Along the backs of his arms lay smooth black feathers fading into the tattoos that end at his fingertips to mortal eyes. His clothing is scarcely changed, save he now wears a vicious*looking sword upon one slender hip, and the latex and rubber spikes along armwarmers and boots are only too real, fashioned from the sharpened, blackened bones of the fallen. But it's his eyes, which speak volumes of his existance, his kith, the Dreams which spawned him. In his eyes one can see the reflection of battlefields of old, the carnage and desolation spanning out for miles without end, awash in the blood of the vanquished-