I.C.E.

Ice is a lanky, slouching Wilder of middling to late teen years, about 5’6 “and 90lb or so. He favors black, loose clothing, usually consisting of cargo pants, and a black button-up over a tee. His feet are clad in heavy steeltoed Vogs, the yellow-and-black striped bootlaces the only spot of color. His black hair is worn carelessly in a tumble, tending to cover his unusual ears (abbreviated version of a Nocker’s, pointed with ruddy tips) …and sometimes falling in a forelock to be pushed back. His pitch black eyes are heavy-lidded, mistrustfully hard and watchful, set into a pale sculpted face with high cheekbones, a strong curved nose, mobile black lips and a firm jaw. Relatively attractive for one of his kith, he nonetheless carries the usual sluagh sense of deformity and odor of death, although occasionally it’s joined uncomfortably by the fragrance of cheap drugstore aftershave or mint. His whisper, when he speaks, usually sounds raspy, rough and unused.  A large brown chimerical spider, “Chewy”, seems to often lurk in his presence.

Ice is seen around the holding more often than not, consuming copious amounts of red bull or ‘tea-bull’, his own inventive concoction. Often leaning over the railing from upstairs with a smirk, or slinking into a corner booth back-lit by his laptop screen, this sluagh has no qualms about making himself heard when he wishes to interject with his (oft dissenting) opinions.  The sluagh Zara is his frequent companion, leading some to speculate on the nature of their relationship.