If the casual observer were to look at the home of this particular person, then they would see naught but deepest darkness. And that was how he liked it. Because, if there WAS a casual observer there, then he was most certainly out, and this could be confirmed by the observer checking to see if they still had the right number of limbs.
A crack was heard, and light played lazily over the landscape. The features of the land were revealed, and, rather surprisingly, they did not reflect the view you would have of the occupant's home. Rolling hills and lush verdant trees were present, with fine cliffs and a mountain towering in the distance. The whole place had a kind of; 'home-made' feel, as if every feature was made by a man with an extremely good toolmaker, and a lot of spare time. This was reinforced slightly by the fact that the afore-mentioned mountain was, in fact, half a mountain. This was not to say that half the mountain was missing. No, the other half was merely a large block of stone.
The light progresses even further, and a man is revealed. Sitting betwixt two large stone pillars, leading into what looked like a mine or cave. He is sitting down, bent over what appears to be a sketchpad or notebook, busily writing or drawing. He has sable black hair, tied up in a ponytail that reaches just below his shoulders. He has young, straight features, deep brown eyes, is dressed in what looks like an extremely black robe, and has a concentrated look about him. He looked rather like one of those people that you suspect of occult and daemonic practices, but you don't give them a hard time about it, because you think they have a decent chance of actually succeeding in said practices, and we all know where that leads.
((Yeah, I'm starting it again.))