He was the kind of man that stood apart from the crowd and in the background all at the same time. He was tall, but he didn't loom or lurk, or even stoop in any menacing fashion that one might the circumstances. He was tall because he was big, not in the way of a mountain, but of a gun. His hair was thin and black; graying at the temples, and always has been, though a moment before it had always been blonde and thick, and a moment before that it had been auburn with slight hints of red. His face was obviously handsome, but in a fashion that one could never be sure what made it so. It was much like seeing him through a fogged glass. You knew who he was, and what he looked like, at least around the edges, but you could never truly explain it in words or a fashion that truly suited him. He wore a two piece, Armani suit, dark blue, with the cuffs turned down, and his black shoes polished into an obsidian shine, laced in strait thirty degree angles, tied in almost perfect bows. Almost perfect in a way that almost screamed intentiallity, and that the knots could have been tied to perfect balance but were left so to mimic the reality he was too real for. In fact his whole manner seemed almost TOO real. He seemed thicker somehow, his lines were darker and the shadows and highlights that played across him seemed deeper. He made walls look like fog, and rocks like a morning mist.
He wore sunglasses, even at night, and he never missed a thing. If it happened, if it didn't happen, he knew. He never fixed problems, he caused them. He was the kind of man who happened to other people, and those who knew him never went out on a dark night without some idea of where he was first. Those who Knew him, didn't go out at all, they were too busy being buried and too preoccupied with death. But even they sunk down a little deeper when he passed by. Contrary to popular belief, worms tended to dig down and snakes ran when he was coming, because even the eyeless know when the temperatures risen.
He didn't mind the cross, it had done more in his service than anyone would realize. Every marker on the shore was a spreading of his faith; every cross on the chain was a sign pointing to a door. He was blunt, in a twisting wheedling way. He told you what he wanted you to do and you did it, and no self-righteous babble and tapping of a moldy book would help you. He was too much. Most couldn't stand in his presence if he didn't want them to, much less speak to him. Most people's minds found it convenient to simply ignore him completely, but as a survival tactic this was more like an antelope ignoring a playful lion. It was those that could him that were the problem. If you could see him, there was a good chance your mind was strong enough to challenge him. Not beat him, but still cause problems. If you could see him, or his associates, you went on The List. No one would ever want to be on The List. People on the List, were watched, monitored, and more often then most would like, taken care of.