This young human is a sight to behold.
Not necessarily because of his looks or size, nor indeed because of any abnormality to his person.
What mostly draws the eye is the clothes he wears. Oversized, puffed and folded fabrics cover his upper body, while the tightness of his hosen is almost unseemly. Matched or mismatched, he parades in bright colours and expensive fabrics, slashed in patterns to reveal other equally colourful layers beneath, with a wide brimmed beret to match, you'd swear that thing provides enough shade for all his friends. Not to mention the feathers you're not sure there's a roc big enough to provide.
It's not clear whether the man is supposed to be a jester or fool, but the halberd he carries on his shoulder probably discourages most from asking.
He walks with the grace and confidence of a trained man at arms, and despite his needlessly extravagant clothes and his uncouth speech portraying little more than a ruffian for hire, his stance, posture and pronunciation stem from years of disciplined upbringing.
Though he vastly prefers facing down creatures from the other end of his 7 foot halberd, he carries around several sidearms as the situation requires, as well as a large shield painted as extravagantly as his clothing. The depictions on his shield are an unnerving juxtaposition to his bright and vibrant clothing, as it consists of several undead dancing and making rude gestures at the opponents facing his shield.
His helmet, too, plays on this theme, with a visor shaped like a human skull, and he wears his wide brimmed beret on top of it.
Weight: 220lbs/100kg, most of it is muscle, though he obviously eats for the next inevitable drawn out hunger campaign life decides to throw at him, keeping a pound or ten of reserves on him.
Skin Tone: Fair. While he tans easily, there seems to be little enough of that, this far north.
Skin Texture: He has scars in several places, from several fights. So too is there callous on his hands, and his face shows signs of long days outside, in the burning sun or the freezing cold. Blessedly, his face remains free of scars, though whether it is skill at arms or simply covering up and yelling "Not the face! Not the face!" remains to be seen.
Tattoos: While he has kept his face, neck and hands clear of tattoos, those who find him in a state of undress will see several tattoos up and down his body. The motif mirrors the art on his shield; dancing, festive skeletons leading mortals, including some warriors dressed just like him, down the path towards the inevitable.
Above the danse macabre are the following words
"Oh death, some would pray, won't you come for me another day?"
The reply below the danse reads
"The children pray, the preachers preach, but time and mercy is out of your reach."
Eyes: He has gray blue eyes, of a sort that give him a mirthful look, rather than a cold or dangerous one. This does not stop him from trying, however.
Hair: His hair is the blond that darkens with age, having turned almost proper brown in his young adulthood, though streaks of blond remain, both in hair and beard. This colour and a faint curl become more obvious the longer it grows, though he rarely lets it grow past his ears.
His beard, however, he lets grow long, styling it one way this week, another way the next, only to shave it off completely, if it strikes his fancy.
Some of the songs you would hear him sing when walking along the road
The King's Shilling
WouldBeBard last edited by
WouldBeBard last edited by
Long overdue update