Puck was always a little misunderstood wherever he went - for it was unusual for a fey-man to visit the material world and its demon infested hell - to travel out so far from his native land, the golden etheric realm.
One black night he followed a sorry fellow, down into the Underworld, who had passed out and away from a cold bed of newspapers and urine.
This poorly man had been sickened by a black-heart condition, and Puck had wanted to see what would happen to a mortal after dying so pitifully destitute. He had trailed his shadow from the moment the corpse was vacated, and throughout the journey that followed after.....
Puck's superior airs frequently presented as downright vanity, but often his estimations were perfectly correct. His kind hold recollections that span centuries (because they do not die as we do) and one can accumulate quite a bit of knowledge over such ages.
He could appear as young as he wanted - his preferred glamour was that of a twenty-eight year old mortal- tanned and muscular, with dark choleric eyes (that would turn blue sometimes) shaded by sunglasses when out in the common world. His attire - whether it was street-wear or formal - always appeared expensive and clean, fitting him perfectly. He wore his hair groomed short, even though overnight it would lengthen into six-inch ringlets and require cutting every morning. He had an energetic handsome face that was neither gay nor straight, but rather reminiscent of a Greek demi-god with pointed ears.
His fascination for death was lately disturbed by an increasing sadness he held for the epidemic of desperate men now diving fast into Hell. What within Earth could be the cause of such numbers? Puck had set himself the task of discovering why so many were afflicted at this time.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series
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