He strode purposefully through the cobbled streets of a small town, drawing eyes with every step. Strangers were uncommon at best, and he would be providing the town's tavern with gossip for weeks to come. A gaggle of wide-eyed children trailed after him, giggling and playing. Houses of plaster, with thatch roofing crept by as the stranger passed, and concerned mothers called their children back from the stranger. House after house he passed, ignoring storefronts, and inns alike. He was drawn like iron to a lodestone, to the south end of the little town, where the houses had been built into the rising hillside, rather than atop it. One house in particular that was nearly half-buried by the hillside was his target. He strode up to the door, and raised a fist. Three sharp raps to the frame announced his presence. While he waited for an answer, he examined himself in the panes of glass set in the door. He was a tall man, standing at nearly six foot three, and narrow in the shoulders. He had hair as black as a raven's feathers, long, unkempt, and pin-straight. His eyes were like chips of pale blue ice. His clothing was fine, a suit the likes of which men of the little town would wear only on feast-days and celebrations. His coat was a dark, dark blue, almost black in shade. Beneath that, a vest of bolder blue practically shone in contrast. His slacks were clean and unrumpled, despite the distance between the little village, and it's closest neighbor over dusty roads. And finally his boots were turned down at the knee, and just as black as his hair. He cut an imposing figure. Tearing his gaze away from his reflection, he rapped on the door again, ignoring the gathering crowd of gawkers.