Pellumb Dauti
Fighter
Pellumb Dauti
Species
Gobboc
Appearance
Pellumb is a small Gobboc with dark brown feathers that look almost polished in bright light, though the tips are always a little ruffled from worry. A dark red wattle hangs beneath his chin like a seal of office he has not yet earned, and his eyes are bright, vigilant, and slightly too wide, as though the world is forever arriving a heartbeat faster than he is. He stands stiffly at 2'6", but he moves in quick, jerky bursts that make him seem smaller when frightened and strangely larger when determined. His chain shirt is cerulean blue and black, fitted with awkward newness, the links still smelling faintly of oil and forge smoke. The armor is immaculate except for one dent he keeps polishing as if it were a sacred relic. He has the contradictory look of someone dressed for war who still clutches hope like a schoolboy carrying warm bread home.
“He speaks quickly when anxious, often starting over midway through a sentence, but his tone is respectful and carefully measured. He tends to end statements with a tiny confirming nod, as if asking the listener to certify that he has been understood.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
A dark red wattle beneath his chin that becomes brighter when he blushes or exerts himself
One carefully polished dent in his chain shirt that he refuses to repair because it reminds him to be humble
A narrow scar on the edge of his beak from his first drill-yard tumble
Claws that are always trimmed with almost obsessive precision
A tiny whistle-cord tucked inside his tunic, used to signal in training
Voice
“Soft, quick, and slightly breathless, with a disciplined edge that sharpens whenever he mentions duty, ranks, or the Tsardom.”
Clothing
Cerulean blue and black 12th-century-style chain shirt over a dark wool under-tunic, narrow military trousers, battered ankle boots, leather gloves with worn fingertips, and a plain crimson cord tied around one wrist as a charm from home
Body Language
He holds his shoulders high and his elbows tucked in, like a recruit trying to take up less space while still looking ready. When anxious, he taps two claws against the seam of his gauntlet in a quick counting rhythm. When confident, he stands on the balls of his feet and leans forward, ready to spring.
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