The Shattered World
Jerryl is a ghastly looking man who has the build and complexion of someone who has just begun to recover from a long wasting illness. His skin is bloodlessly pale and ashen, his dark hair is lank and brittle, and he is mostly skin and bones. For all that, he has a lively demeanor and appears to be in a constant state of bemusement.
His eyes mark him out to be a shade, devoid as they are of whites. They are solid dark orbs of the deepest purple that he takes pains to conceal behind a pair of alchemist’s glasses during the day, and they cut the darkest of nights effortlessly. Shadows and colors behave strangely around Jerryl, hues become muted and flickering shadows bend in ways they shouldn’t, almost as if they want to be closer to him.
He is clad in a plethora of greys and blacks. A full suit of boiled leathers is strapped to his body, over which he wears splendid suit that just melts into gloom. He brandishes a rod which he uses as a cane.
Jerryl is difficult to look at directly. Something about the way he moves waters the eye, disquiets the mind, and unsettles the stomach.
Far older than he appears, Jerryl is a tormented man who once tried to do the right thing and has paid a price terrible beyond mortal reckoning, he is now but a shadow of the person he once was. He is driven by blind terror, selfishness, and the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, things can be put right again.