Maximus was pale, particularly so, he was anemic and had been since birth, even if it wasn't ever severe. Maximus had bright turquoise eyes and blond hair most mistook for being bleached, but it was not, it was natural as the beauty marks and moles that scattered across his body. He preferred to wear formal attire, suites and waist coats and similar to always appear... Clean, even if his chosen "profession" was not. It was a cult, all things considered, though his family and himself preferred to term of "organization" rather than something attached to vices and distrustful titles— it was his grandfather who began the organization, back during the first world war, in fact, in England when times were so terribly dreadful and hard. He made a safe place to turn to, a man to trust! And so, it continued on and on... Maximus was raised to be what any good leader must be, with a kind appearance and façade that acted as a lure to the underprivileged and despairing folk in need of a leader in their hardest of times! Maximus was lucky, in fact, that he'd been born the third one too hold the title of leader of this organization, as it was large, massive and had control of several of the most prominent political figures and governments the world had to offer. Maximus was manipulative, yes, he knew how to get what he needed and wanted alike... He was a fighter, physically and otherwise, he had taken more lives than he could count on a single hand, anything to protect his families legacy was necessary. His parents had long since died when he was in his early teens, he had an empire, he had those to command, he had his trusted members, and he'd find peace in what he must do to protect it all, no matter the cost... Even if his feelings at times feel... Conflicting.