|Guild||Death and Debauchery|
|Hair||Dark with a greenish tinge|
Tall and gaunt, Venshadur has dark skin and calm green eyes framed by his braided long hair and high hairline. Tattoos he gained from his time amongst guilds on Khemi's streets still adorn his body and face.
A lotus haze filters the world around him, but Venshadur knows purpose, drive and the hunt. Perhaps more than a little corrupted by those around him and the things he has inhaled, ingested, injected and imbibed over the years, of late the Stygian has found focus to be an absent friend. Since working for Khelnur and the Cabal, Venshadur's only real focus is acquiring the right lotus to do the job - most of which is the controlling of slaves temperament and breaking their last reamining skerrick of will.
Venshadur prowled the cobbled marketplace, taking up wares and conversing with the merchants who's questions he'd heard before. He replied with answers, well rehearsed and chosen from the hundreds he'd heard from traders before. The merchants paid him no mind, bored as they were, more willing to get out of the heat midday brought them than quibble over a few coins of profit. This was what the Stygian wanted, indifference, ignorance, things that would allow him to work his way around the bazaar his eyes occasionally shifting from sacks of dates or salted fish to the corpulent specimen sitting in the middle, his own eyes lazily considering the business of the day. The pasha drained the jewel-encrusted goblet, the last drops of wine dribbling down his mottled chin. His free hand pulled on the chain by his side, waking the slave-girl from her slumber. Ven paused as he saw her, her face hidden by her hair, matted by who knows what bodily fluids. The chain had rubbed the skin of her neck raw and flies found their home there. She limped towards the plethoric pasha with the amphora of wine wincing with pain with each step, her ankles deformed after being hobbled when captured no doubt. As she got closer she shied away while pouring the wine, the Pasha's catching her by the hair with his sausage-like fingers, pulling it away from her face. Venshadur's hand instinctively went for his blade but his training stopping him before it was too late. The girls face was unmistakeable, even through the bruises and slave-piercings that adorned it now. He shrugged off the merchant in front of him asking too much for his dates and moved towards the centre of the bazaar and closer to his mark...