The Man:

Before you stands a man just over six feet in height, straight as a staff, and stiff in his pose. His shoulders are broad, though not as widened as a Blacksmiths, and his muscles toned and well-shaped, though not to make him appear a burly warrior. His silhouette is not of an athletic build, though neither is his shadow the darkened mirror of a hardened berserker. Instead, he is a hardened man, a toughened man, a man that lives a life of hard labor and tiring work.

His skin is darkened and weathered, betraying that he lives an outdoor life, and though its neither dry, nor particularly coarse, it is clear that it faces the elements on a daily basis. For a man as rugged as he, the odor about him is not so bad. He smells of earth, of rain, of a crisp wind. And beneath it, the faint scent of sweat, and of blood.

His face is made from stark lines and subtle creases. Hard cheeks and a dipped, well defined brow give him a near perpetual, grim facade. His jaws come straight as arrows from his ears, then pivot at an angle to a flat chin. His nose is slightly longer than average, but the width of his nostrils is unlike any other common mans. Though, the hardened line of its ridge, buckled ever so slightly in one place where it may once have been broken, makes the feature look stark and narrow.

His lips are fairly thin, but still of note, not much darker than the flesh of his face, and behind them, a set of clean teeth, that appear to be well cared for. The scent on his breath is not so bad either, and whether it be mint, or clove, or any other smell, it is clear that he chews herbs and plants when out of doors. His ears are of no real note, of normal size, and normal shape, tipped back against his head, as if to streamline his skull.

Within the starkly lined diamonds aside his nose, sit a pair of eyes; keen and unfaltering. They lack color or hue, and reside as perpetually grey pools that shift with his mood. In the light of a warm fire, they are polished stone, by the suns grace, swirling smoke, and by the pallid shine of a full moon, whispering mist. His blinks are few and far between, and his gaze lingers long, drinking the sights before him, as if to remember them for eternity.

His hair is dark and fairly coarse, not the jet black of most of his countrymen, but instead, a deep charcoal, flecked here and there with the faintest strands of grey. He keeps it loose, in a thick mop, brushed back over the top of his head, and hooked behind his ears. It is heavily ornamented, within the locks sit tightly woven braids, tipped with beads of horn, antler and bone, and tied into it, all over, over a dozen long, black rooks feathers that hang to thicken his style into a thick mane.

His lower face is sheathed in a thick, but well kept, and neatly trimmed beard, that does well to hide his age, though the creases aside his eyes, between the corners of his mouth and his nostrils, in the hollows under his eyes, and up upon his bared brow, betray that he is well over thirty-winters old, though he seems not hindered by it in the least. Finally, cresting his brow, a brace of thick, dark eyebrows that do a fine job of accentuating his expression, found most usually, dipped into a shallow vee, as he peers at things in his usual, grim manner.

Finally, his voice. When it sounds, all know to whom it belongs. It is as deep as the blackest abyss, as gritty as a quarry of gravel, and with each and every sound, his throat reverberates like the croak of a giant toad, that seems to set the very air about it to trembling. A voice that when raised, booms like the beat of a war drum, or, can be as quiet as the whisper of the wind.

Attire:

Upon this man’s feet is a handsome pair of tall boots that reach upwards to his knees. Made of fine leather, they appear to be well oiled and maintained and though usually spattered with mud, they appear to be relatively waterproof. At their peak, the bucket tops toll over to protect the leg from the splashes of puddles and mud, and wrapping around the entirety of the lower leg, over the striders themselves, a heavy pair of gaiters, made of canvas and leather that sheathe the boots beneath from the worst of the elements. At his heels, sit a pair of silver spurs, though not the spurs one would use to control a horse. Large, star like wheels, sharpened like razors for use in combat rather than riding, that chime like bells with each of his steps.

His legs are wrapped in a simple, rugged pair of leather trousers, and at his knee’s a pair of steel plated knee guards, over padded leather that wrap about to protect both the cap itself and the side of the joints from impact and injury. They seem tailor made, and custom forged, as to not hinder his movement, and from under the steel, two, muddy strips of cloth fall half way down his calf to add some decoration to his lower body.

His torso is covered by a thick hauberk of padded, grey leather, woven in an ornate, diamond fashion, with little silver studs at the juncture of each seam. It reaches upwards from the back of his knees, to his shoulders, yet lacks sleeves, seeming to be more of a long waistcoat instead. Beneath, a lighter leather jacket reaches down to his elbows, its cusps studded to give his biceps a more fearsome anesthetic and a heavy leather mantel sits fastened with buckles about his shoulders, equipped with a soft leather hood, that is usually found slung up to veil his face in shadow, and a tall, rigid leather collar that is there more for style and function.

Strapped to this collar, a single, ragged leather pauldron, on the left side, riveted together out of pieces of dark, heavy hide, scarred by what appear to be tiny slices. Though it would provide more than ample protection against the blow of a sword or the jaws of a wolf, it seems to be more of a perch, for one of his winged companions, that can usually be found perched upon his mantle.

His arms are sheathed in an isometric manner; The right is sheathed from the tips of his fingers to the joint of his arm in a tall, supple leather glove. Its knuckles, fitted with sharpened, steel studs that would be devastating if brought to bear upon naked flesh. Wrapped over his forearm, a bracer from wrist to elbow of thick, rigid leather, dappled in more shining rivets, finished with a simple, leather pad, that protects and supports his elbow. The left, is sheathed in a similar glove, but clad from fingers to elbow in lobsters jaw, and is virtually impervious to even the sharpest of edges.

About his waist, is first a simple, grey woolen sash, that wraps about his midsection to trail two long tails down past his knees, one before him and one behind. Over it, a heavy, leather belt assembly, equipped with straps that extend up over his shoulders. Upon this belt, encircling his waist, eight or nine large, leather pouches, each packed tightly with a variety of objects, items and tools to aid in his outdoor life, the containers sealed tightly, by silver buckles to prevent them from opening.

Hanging down on his left thigh, a selection of sheathes and scabbards, containing a dozen or so different knives, daggers and cleavers, used for butchering, cleaning, gutting and killing game, and on the right, an ornate pouch, with several exterior pockets, filled with meat scraps, lures and other items, that he uses for Falconry. Behind him, hanging in an elongated loop that sits upon his buttocks, thirty feet of woven leather rope, and a three-pronged grapnel, that can be folded away into a fearsome single sickle, and between the pouches, sharp, steel trophy hooks protrude, usually used to hang smaller, dead game from, so that he need not use his hands.

s attire, is his wonderful Bandoleers hand, stretches down from his right shoulder, and then up under his left arm, equipped with many more, smaller pouches, vial sleeves and pockets, that contain the finer items of his trade. At its lowest point, hangs an ornate hunting horn of bulls horn, capped at either end with iron gilding, and at its highest, a padded leather guard bears some of the weight from his shoulder more evenly.

Another thick support strap, stretches up over his left shoulder, to further distribute the weight, and strapped to it is a large, rabbit fur sheathe, with a  fearsome hunting knife within it. Under his right arm, hangs a supple, suede satchel that from its shape, appears to contain books and scrolls, and attached to the back of the main assembly, protruding over his right shoulder, is a beautiful leather quiver, sporting small pockets and just over a dozen grey fletched arrows, and a rigid scabbard, containing a simple long sword.

Judging by what this man carries, it is clear that he burdens himself with an incredible weight, and carries his whole world around on his shoulders at almost all times, which might explain his muscular build. Rugged, hard wearing and practical, his equipment is an extension of himself, and he is seldom seen without it. If ever there was a persona that fit the expression "The clothes make the man", Dauntlus is he. 

Weapons:

Though this man bears with him a wide variety of weapons and tools, there are only four that are of any real remark;

The first, is the icon of his profession, how bow; Five and a half feet of Yew, with an ornate leather grip. At the end of each arm, a small, cow horn cap, that holds in place a cord of tightly woven linen, that acts as its string. It is not a weapon for a shorter man, nor a bow even the strongest smith could pull. It is a Longbow, and that means dedication. With a draw weight of over ninety pounds, having to be lifted on just three fingers, it is a weapon that only a lifelong bowman can master, and this man would seem to be a master, of it, and its grey fletched projectiles.

The next weapon does not fit the man particularly well, not for a Huntsman. A simple long sword hangs sheathed across his back most of the time. Its blade, two fingers thick with a deep fuller, its edge, honed to the point where it’s dangerous to touch. The crossbar is a simple, steel strut, sharpened at both ends to be lethal when thrust, and at the end of its hand-and-a-half grip, a flat, disk like pommel, adorned with more spikes, that can be used to strike and butt with.

At a loop on his right side, hands a beautiful hatchet. A thin, leather wrapped haft of Black Ashe, two feet long, and atop it, a long, thin, narrow head, designed for sheer impact and speed over cutting area, sharpened and honed every day, so that it is keen enough to shave with. The rear face, sports a flat, weighted hammer, than can be used as either a tool, or a lethal bludgeon that could easily put a nasty dent in the finest forged plate, or the thickest of skulls.

Finally, he carries a hunting knife as fine as an Elven blade. Three fingers thick, and ten inches long, the blade is forged out of meteorite steel, with a fearsome dropped point. The two-thirds closed to the grip on the top side have been cut into broad, serrated teeth, whilst the point-most third has been left flat, so that a hammer can strike it if needs be. One third of the other side has been cut into a much finer serrated edge, used as a tool for more delicate work, but the rest remains a fearsome edge that could easily cut a man’s head near off.

Its crossbar is simple and slightly curved, and the grip is padded with beautiful red leather. Its pommel, shaped like the head of a Falcon, with a flattened head, that appears to have seen the blow of a hammer from time to time. This is less a weapon, more a tool, but when its drawn, it is clear that only ill can come of disrespecting it.

Mannerisms:

This man’s Mannerisms follow that of a bird. He remains stone still for long periods of time, but when he must move, he moves with purpose. Head never glides slowly, it snaps from point to point, never stopping to survey things idly, but instead, looking straight at the point of interest, and then snapping onwards to the next point.

His gate, is a long, bounding stride, and his arms tend to swing gently to speed up his step, which at times, can be hard to keep up with. Judging by the amount of equipment he burdens himself with at all times, the way he meticulously organizes his things, and the protocols by which he lives his life. It would seem he suffers from extreme Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and that when he is not in full control of his life, he becomes very anxious and incredibly paranoid.

One of his most notable features are the twitches that plague his face. At some point in time, the right side of his face sustained some terrible blow, and it has since set off a violent habit of flinching involuntarily as a result. They come at random, sometimes subtle, as only to lift the corner of his lips, but others, violent, locking one side of his face into a hideous, one sided snarl.

It is a condition that causes him to slur his speech and stammer is words. To dribble Cider from his mouth and even drop food during the worst of times. Hence, he has become conscious of it, and oft wears his hood, simply to hide the disfiguring condition from others, to save what little dignity is left after enduring the condition for so long.

This man is unlike any other. He is not about legendary qualities, magical items or a majestic tale, but about a collection of mundane, everyday things, that come together to make a figure, that will not be seen again in the world, the figure, of The Huntsman.