Fall of the Paladins
Urbane, intense, vaguely serpentine rogue of a man. Rangerly ways, striking gaze.
Tall, well-built and clearly foreign, this human man could very well be the poster child of a dashing rogue, combining strong, aristocratic features with a richly tanned olive complexion. Urbane in his choice of grooming, from combed-back hair to a finely trimmed goatee; exotic in garb and mannerisms, his whole demeanor exudes debonair confidence, albeit poisoned by a distinctly predatory gaze.
Golden, slitted pupils of a serpent observe his surroundings with keen interest, bearing a slightly unnerving intensity. Upon closer inspection, signs of something askew drew attention: the dull glint of iridescent scales catches the eye, creeping up the right side of his neck. The rest, concealed beneath layers of clothing, is for no stranger’s eye to see.
A hunter of the monstrous, the man’s choice of attire befits his occupation: a well-fitting ensemble of coffee-black leather armor (doublet, shoulderpads, vambraces) and olive and brass fabric, bearing a triangular, Aztec-style décor. An Inverness-style short cape, hooded and similarly lined, completes the look.
Far from prone to engage in unchecked barbarism, the man’s choice of weaponry reflects his predilection for a technique erring on the cautious side, a necessity given the game he hunts: a hybrid fighter proficient in both close quarters and marksmanship, Esteban slays by bolt and blade. In his left, a carved, antique blade, its wicked obsidian edge untarnished by time, its hilt forged in the effigy of a serpent, the green-black blade emerging from its fanged jaws. In his right, a fine hand-crossbow, the design sturdy, the wood’s lacquer matted by use and exposure.