If not for the eccentricity of his appearance and the sinister aura he exuded, the man stood before Scouti could very well have been considered mundane. He was of no great height, under six foot, and his blade looked as if its edge was rusted and it was no fine work regardless. A tool of a forgotten Empire, one that knew the value of practical things, but one that lacked an eye for the aesthetic. Behind his mask, lank brown hair hung to shoulder height, brushed back behind the slightly shoddy velvet cloak. It was the mask really, only the mask. Porcelain white, except for the soft marks of red, but with the face of tragedy. The eyes upturned and the mouth likewise showing the image of one distraught. It was not overly detailed, the brow was ridged to accentuate the hopelessness of the expression, but other than that it was plain. The face behind it was shrouded in darkness though. Which was enough so that one may even begin to doubt if there was a man inside the mask. 

However, his interesting new plaything had apparently already tested him. Tentatively, but with some form of power she sought to manipulate the Weeping blade, and found herself rebuked. The weapon was tied to his soul, it was not something easily taken from him. However, the attempt alone was enough to draw his ire, had he not already planned to extinguish her life that alone would have sealed her fate. She readied herself for a battle, wisely so, but her preparations did not escape the eyes of the Weeper. He simply did not fear them.

“I am afraid, my dear, that my business is with you.” He sounded genuinely remorseful as he went on, taking a single step towards her with each pause. “I am but a lowly servant you see.” Step. “Who finds himself the receptacle of so much misery.” Step. “Such that I simply cannot bear it.” Step. “And so I share it among others.” Step. “You look as if you could withstand the pain I offer.” Step. [i]“Would you please take it from me?”[/i]