Brother Martin in Pictures (a description)
Brother Martin, a human, would stand nearly six and a half feet talk, if he didn’t constantly slouch and stumble about. He is of medium build, mostly as a result of a constant war between his complicated physical regiment, and his beer gut. His hair is unkempt and long for a monastic and his wears a perpetual “Five-o-Clock Shadow” that never seems to get more or less clean-shaven. He white tunic is stained with dark splotches of whiskey, brown streaks of beer, and black patches of alleyway dirt. He wears it loosely buttoned, or open, or removes it as weather and mobility dictate. His pants as leather and well made, they have untapered legs with extra fabric at the joints to avoid restriction. The wide pant legs extend to cover his often-bare feet when standing. When shirtless his thick steel and leather bracers are revealed dominating most of his arms from the elbow to the wrist. His entire back is a complicated tattoo depicting the Red Knight in the midst of a heated battle with faceless opponents. His left arm carries a further tattoo of twisting scriptures written in Celestial (which he himself can not read, but has memorized) which exclaims in part the values of strategy, strength, and learning.
He moves in the stumbling motions of a drunk, but seldom such that he trips or falls (unless intentionally). In combat however his movements are a whole other matter. Most of his fighting style concentrates on hand and forearm strikes in deference to kicks (which are still used, but mostly against flanking or otherwise “out of arms reach” opponents). His hands move from wide palm strikes, to single finger pressure point attacks, to snap wristed chops and kidney strikes. A keen observer will notice he only curls his hands into fists for his flurry of blows, which take the form of a blinding barrage of punches from a low horse stance.
When not in combat he tries to be as unthreatening as possible, appearing confused and unwieldy, but never truly ceasing to observe his surroundings and be ready for act if necessary. His speech is clear but befuddled, often stammering to get longer or more complex words out, or simply responding with hand gestures (some quite rude) to most questions. An experienced drunk will notice this is more deliberate then the result of the drink itself, and will notice the lack of true slurring common to the gutter trash of the world in which he lives. He smells of a varying array of liquors, but seldom of the filth common in the homeless which may been in some part to the sheer amount of natural alcoholic disinfectant he spills on himself in the course of a day.
On the road he wears a long cloak to avoid the sun and the elements and moves with expedience along side the parties’ pack animals, pacing himself not to be truly winded if combat ensues. He has confidence in his combat abilities, and will tumble into the center of the battle to keep the most amount of enemies busy. While good in nature he also feels that his companions must fend for themselves, so he seldom protects a mage or thief he thinks can possibly survive on their own. This does not mean however that he won’t dash to their aid if they can not, but everyone should be allowed to make their mistakes. He enjoys most fighting along side the more agile of warriors, thieves, rangers, and clever fighters being his favorites. Anyone who exhibits strategy over stupidity however is welcome to fight beside him.
