[b]Name:[/b]Robart "The Pilgrim" Garrithe
[b]Age:[/b] 32, though he looks like he's been dead and buried in a salt pile for years.
[b]Description:[/b] The remnants of what was once a powerful and imposing figure, has apparently shriveled underneath sandstone-looking, leathery skin. Like a tan, semi-muscular hollow from Dark Souls, but with functioning eyes and some streaks of blackish melanin left in his beard. He usually hides this under his armor and cloak, of course. He has a uniquely beaked helmet that sticks out from under his hood.
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Personality:[/b] Very austere and moribund in nature. He has the poise and mannerisms of someone who was once very 'Type A' and confrontational, but his bile has gone out of him and he doesn't know how to present himself in another way. Apologizes often when he imagines someone imagines that he slighted them.
[b]Backstory:[/b] Used to be a kmight, got infected with "The Drying" and joined a sort of crusade movement called "The Leper Knights", felt that he could get no closer to 'Salvation' in battle, and went North to find a quiet, peaceful place to die. Or, at least one that wasn't fighting with itself.
[b]Skills[/b]: He’s quite adept at fighting with his Crows beak staff, sword, and shield. Very efficient and brutal. He can also start fires and shoot things with a bow and arrow, but those would qualify more as survival skills than things with battle application, and they are not his forte.
[b]Extra:[/b] It's not usually the case, but he always feels massively dehydrated. Any beverage he isn't suspicious of he will down with haste. Due to his disease, his skin is hard, solid, and durable, like hardleather, but it heals very slowly. Nearly any wound requires stitches and bandages.