Creak.
The wooden door slowly swung inward with a long, groaning protest as an elderly man stepped out onto the porch.
He was tall, though age had stolen some of the height he must once have possessed.
Even with his slightly hunched back and bent shoulders, he still stood close to six feet tall.
His skin carried the characteristic golden-brown complexion of the Zlycons, appearing almost as though sunlight itself had settled beneath it.
Despite the wrinkles gathered around his eyes and mouth, his skin remained remarkably smooth, reflecting the afternoon light with a faint radiance.
Two long pointed ears extended from the sides of his head, while a crown of gray hair rested upon it. His appearance would have seemed dignified under normal circumstances.
At the moment, however, dignity was the last thing visible on his face.
