Artimus

(Come back later, Artie is still shiny and new.)

Magnificent steel armor encases a small yet lean form - very, very rarely seen without it. Clearly of rodent descent, this one exudes patience across an otherwise relaxed and neutral expression. A practiced strength lies in his footsteps, in the way that the fellow crosses the ground beneath him, suggestive of someone who knows precisely how to handle himself and how to handle himself well, where conflict would threaten his path and make his ass-tail itch. Many generations are alive today from his efforts, the future of many more no doubt weighing across his shoulders. A sleek coat of beige fur is visible with contrasting ivory, or more specifically a strip of blazed white along his muzzle, just barely greeting his forehead. Pupils are impossible to track beyond eyes of solid ruby, trained and focused as they might be. An elegant short-sword swings subtly from the sheath by his left hip, while modest handheld battle axes remain strapped against each shoulderblade. It seems that when he does clash with another, it is within close and personal range. At 4'1, he is little as he is loyal.

"Who are you supposed to be?"
Sir Artimus Lakeside.


"Okay but racially..?"
Blazed Scassian. (Semi-closed species. Ask!)


"What are you supposed to do, then?"
Head Chief.


"What are you, eight?"
Old enough to know when I am speaking to a child.


"How's the weather down there?"
4'1. So long as I'm down here, do tell me how it feels to be 6 inches shorter. c: ⚔️


"What is it that you're into?"
The Pits, parties, women, painting, potatoes, my bed.


"What could possibly bother you?"
Condescension, the rowdy neighbors upstairs, time wasters, morons that ask pointless questions.