When the Veil is in full force, Faolan Arasgain is no longer. In his place stands Collin Chase. A Caucasian man, Irish or Scottish going by his name, that stands a modest height, and carries no great musculature. His short brown hair appears to be in that indefinable messy cut that has existed since the the early 1900's. Combined with his choice of usually wearing a simple white shirt and sports jacket, it is very easily to overlook this man when in a crowd. Which is just the way he likes it. That populous-blending clothing is often in a rumpled state however. And he perpetually has the look of a man who has forgotten to shave for a few days. But is his eyes that are his most striking feature. For they are both as keen as a raptor's eye, missing nothing, but they carry a deep sadness. Some might say he has an "old soul" in those eyes, for they look to have seen much over his few decades alive.

In defiance of recent ordinances, the man freely smokes in most places, even when asked not too. Centuries of bad habits are heard to break after all. That has gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. As has his direct, tactless demeanor. Is it any wonder that even with the Veil, Collin looks like he has gone a few rounds with some irate customers in a dive bar? Well, more than likely, he has...







When one peers beneath the Veil, the truth is revealed. Faolan Arasgain stands in all his glory. Despite being a Sidhe of the Isles, Faolan bears more resemblance to a Svartálfar than any of his luminous-skinned kin. His flesh is as dark as the night sky during a new moon, his short-cropped hair is the silver of starlight. The red of his eyes could be mistaken for the dying embers of a campfire on some dark night when all other lights have gone out. Pointed ears that could never be mistaken for a human's proudly frame his strong features. He has a rugged handsomeness that most of the fair Sidhe lack. A square chin, broad nose, and high forehead give him the appearance of years, despite his ageless quality. Unlike the vast majority of his people, his beautiful features are marred with scars of many past battles. Faolan was always a Sidhe of action, and over the centuries he has been injured during particularly dangerous hunts, great battles, or particularly nasty investigations in this modern era. But they seem to suit him, as if he would be incomplete without them.

Despite evolving with the times, Faolan still dresses as if he were about to take off screaming into a midnight forest at any moment. Simple brown breaches and hunting boots cover his legs, but a gambeson and a coat of mail covers his torso. Hanging from his belt is a Carolingian sword, and from the looks of the weapon, it is not a modern recreation. He'd blend right in at a Renaissance Festival, were it not for his Sidhe heritage. Well, that and the Colt 1911 he has sitting in a shoulder rig. That breaks up them theme somewhat.