There's a curious breeze that whips and scatters fallen leaves about before the source of it approaches. And does so hanging upside-down in midair, arms and legs crossed, staff in one hand, suspended by the conjured, concentrated funnel of wind under him. The man(?) is quite a sight even without his magical entrance; there's probably very little on Azeroth that would match a creature of his description.

"While there are things in my life that call for a change so that I come closer to my ideal," he answers with an upside-down, pointy-toothed smirk, "they're hardly matters that fall to my changing of them. It's difficult being perfect, but I like to think I wear it well."