A mortal God, beyond handsome and statuesque, the envy of all living male
creatures and the desire of all female such, much to his chagrin as he is
not really interested in relationships as this time, or fights for that
matter.


And now for his actual appearance and not his mental self-image:


Spindly limbs, if numbering half of that of spiders, are provisionally
attached to a hat-rack of a body.  A sudden gust of wind would send the
entire thing skyward less it broke it in two out of spite.

Ragged grey eyes peers both intently and arbitrarily at all and naught that
comes near or not, revealing either brilliant mind or one that has crossed
the line from sagacity to folly.

Equally ragged hair rests in near frightful ampleness on top of the lanky
skull, parading what might well be ashes.  Adorning the outline of the jaw
is a beard either factitious in nature or daringly maltreated.

Firmly planted at supposedly the centre of the face is either a substantial
nose or the sprouting of a second head, the envy of any hawk out there.

Sublime as any beauty might be the stature of five and a half feet does
little to forward the cause of an intimidating appearance.

It is then most fortuitous that more oft than not that all but the face is
covered by the flapping long robe that once in a now far, far removed past
might have been the whiter shade of pale with sleeves that are long enough
to conceal not only his hand but half a dozen more and completing the
antique ensemble is a pointed but crinkled hat holds on the whole the
indomitable hair under control.

All things considered he makes for a curious creature but not overly
atrocious.  Until he speak, at least.  The voice carries if not in an
amiable manner.  High pitched soprano with intermittent drops to alto makes
for a bewildering listening for anyone that braves the experience of
prolonged exposure.  To his advantage it must be firmly pointed out that at
all time he remains polite and civil.