A Familiar New Face

A short and stout silhouette accented by the beautiful sunset approaches you from the dense brush of the forest. The dying rays of light do nothing to bring warmth or comfort for a good night’s rest and instead dread for what is to come. As the final streaks of light finally die out what’s left is darkness as the figure seems to merge with the now blackened sky. Then a twinkle. High above the expanse of the unknown. Followed by another. And another. And another. Until the black expanse of nothing is filled with light. The array of light shines high above your heads, but also lower. On the ground before you stands a short and stout figure.
 
You witness the sparks of druidic power in the veins of a plucked Kenku, pulsating to the rhythm of its heart. The gentle rise and fall of its fleshy chest outlined by the thin frame of bones accentuate the exposed body revealed from the thick fur coat it wears upon its shoulders. An expanse of inking; splashes of colour and lines of scripture form stories to illustrate a lifetime. Some flow with the scars of previous hardships. Others dance in jovial colours. Many more hidden by the dark layers of shadows. But most peculiar is its eyes. Pleasures it has pursued, death it has danced with, and guilt it continues to fight.
 
This is Whistler.