Tangled red-brown hair that rarely sees a comb, much less water. Blue eyes lined with centuries of shadow and darkness still somehow pierce to the very soul, with what could be insight, madness, or both. A body that is no stranger to the pains of imprisonment, yet still it lives on. Black and brown clothing ill-fitted and in tatters, as if scavenged from a waste heap. Simon is a picture of the forgotten man. The Tattered One. Yet somehow there is a glimmer of nobility. A tenacity. An eternal patience learned with being a prisoner from when the worlds were still new. In some odd way his gaze is disturbingly familiar... from the feeling one is being watched but no one seems to be around.