Ashu's look, in comparison to V, is purely organic, though no less striking. Dark elf is an apt appellation—dusky grey skin scarified with bumps at the swell of his cheekbones, grey-red oversized pupils on crimson sclera, pitch black thick locks framing his face. Humanoid, yes, but clearly not human, too much fire and ash. The points of his long triangular ears peek out of Ashu's hair as he cocks his head, appraising V, trying to comprehend what, exactly, he's seeing.

Metal embedded in bone and sinew? Transcendence of the flesh. He might not understand the specifics—why does it seem to glow?—but he understands the rationale implicitly.

Lives it too.

"Don't insult me, n'wah," he hisses, readjusting the bug-like plating of the oversized, spiky pauldron attached to his left shoulder. "Cities are my hunting grounds too." No one looks up, ever. It's often so much easier to travel vertically than horizontally. His tone warms, despite his voice sounding gravelly, tries for friendlier remembering their previous cheer. "But why not enjoy the guiding light Azura gifts me today?" His eyes linger on V's form, between his pectorals, teeth pressing on his lip ring without shame.