Aedenhrir ensured the tunic he chose for the occasion fit snugly over his lean, sculpted trunk. Leather trousers tight enough to showcase the cut of his thick legs and the swell of his dancer's arse, yet still comfortable. Something he could move in. He'd trimmed his beard to frame his fair, handsome face, combed his sleek, raven hair, and bathed off the soot and dirt and sweat of his labors. At his most ragged he'd never been in short supply of admirers, but if you're going to kill a man, you should damn well look your best.