A broad-shouldered human man with a crooked nose, close-cropped dark hair, patchy stubble, and a permanent look of irritated suspicion. He wears battered chain mail beneath a stained cloak, carries a longsword and shield, and keeps a light crossbow within easy reach. His clothes are practical, dark, and deliberately nondescript, though his hood is usually marked by an unpleasant brownish stain from an old and embarrassing incident.

Crap Pants is blunt, alert, and aggressively self-confident. He enjoys intimidating people more than fighting them, but he is perfectly willing to fight when intimidation fails. He has a crude sense of humor, a sharp memory for debts, and a strange professional pride in never being the most obvious threat in a room.

Crap Pants was born in a crowded human district where names were cheap and reputations were cheaper. The nickname began after a botched burglary in which he panicked while hiding inside a noble's laundry cart. Instead of being captured, he escaped by throwing a chamber pot at a guard, but the smell and the story followed him for years. He eventually stopped correcting people and began using the insult as his name, reasoning that anyone who underestimated him was already halfway to losing their purse or their life. He became a capable enforcer for a thieves' gang, learning to fight in alleys, cellar rooms, and crowded market streets. His strength and endurance made him useful when intimidation failed, while his quick hands and criminal connections kept him alive when violence attracted too much attention. After murdering a fellow gang member who attempted to betray him, Crap Pants fled with stolen armor, a sword, and a list of names belonging to people who still owe him favors. He now travels as a mercenary and adventurer, seeking wealth, leverage, and opportunities to make powerful people regret ever laughing at him.