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Name: Mote.
Gender: Male.
Race: Mothraki.
Appearance:

In a land of mostly cute mothgirls and femboys one moth rises above the rest, showing to the world that beauty is not found in fragility but in resilience and raw, muscular might. Having honed his marvelous muscles both in combat and in the routines taught to him by his master he is a sight to behold. With the soft, fuzzy face of an adorable moth and the light blue skinned, absolutely ripped musculature of a true warrior he stands proud with his mottled blue and orange mane and wings flowing in the cool winter winds. He is clad in a fine white tunic that was woven by his very hands, tied around the waist with a sash that's also of his making.
Bio:

Beneath the muscular manliness of this powerful warrior the tale of a sorry young lad still lives on deep within.

He was a clumsy oaf as a little one, hardly an ounce of elegance in him. He was awkward both in speech and in action, always belittled by his peers for his ungainly size and indelicate looks. He never had friends for none would associate themselves with something as embarrassing as he. Furthermore he had no head for magic. His talents laid not in casting for his clumsy handwork and generally anemic magical aura left him able to manage little more than simple frost cantrips.

There was only one solace for this overgrown insect: Weaving. His grandmother always wove the most lovely of clothes and he spent much of his free time with her, learning how to weave the fibers together to create such elegant cloth. It was his one true escape from the social alienation and cruelty of his peers. With his mother having died in child birth and his father being a very busy moth his grandmother was by and large the closest thing to family for him.

It was only inevitable that she one day passed. He wept long and deeply at her loss. While the tribe did mourn her passing few took her loss quite as he did. If they had ever strove to understand him better they might of understood why he packed up his scarce few belongings and left to the great wilderness, never to return.

He traveled for a long time indeed. He knew how to forage and lived on what little he could eat, existing largely to continue living each day and little more. One strong blizzard however left him stranded inside a cavern. It is within this cavern he happened upon a strange old human, a hermit who wandered the land. The hermit spoke a little of his language, enough to introduce himself as a name roughly translating to "Strong-of-Arm". He was kind enough to let this young man of a moth stay in the cavern whilst the blizzard stormed on. Come the morning when the storm had died down he emerged from the cavern to see the man practicing some form of martial art. He watched Strong-of-Arm practice, mimicking his movements in turn. Seeing this the hermit understood Mote's curiosity towards his fighting style and thus continued on. They practiced together for quite some time, Mote learning much in what felt like a much shorter time than it truly was. When it was time for them to part ways Mote left the hermit now a warrior, his weapon of choice now his body.

Eventually he found his way to the human settlement of Dawn where he settled down, keen to get back into the practice he loved most. He helped out enough to scrounge up some money and then used it to buy the fibers needed to start weaving cloth so that he might fashion lovely new clothes from it. Such is how he started on the path to becoming the biggest tailor of this settlement, at least until the storm hit and he suffered a fate most cool.

It seemed the divine forces above had plans set for him, plans bigger than mere tailoring unfortunately.

Goals:

Mote aspires to perfect his tailoring so that he might make the most beautiful of garments. He continues to hone his body largely out of respect for the art he was taught.

Skills:

|Strong-of-Arm Style|: A fighting style that is dedicated to the art of mastering combat through use of one's own body. Fists, feet, knees, elbows, head and shoulders are all actively utilized in this martial art. It emphasizes both grappling and hard-hitting close up strikes which encourage forward-momentum to keep on the attack. He has even incorporated his wings into the style, training their strength to allow for him to add an extra "hop" to his jump and to also give him a short swift boost either towards or away from the direction he's facing, sort of like a short dash.

|Tailoring|: He can weave together fabrics to create lovely cloth items. There's no enchantment involved as he has no luck with magic but they are quite nice all the same.

|Enthralling dust|: Mothraki produce a potent pollen like dust upon their wings. Merely by existing they spread this where they go, though its mostly harmless if not inhaled in large quantities. Causes hallucinations and dulls one senses. As one may expect, people tend to frown upon this sort of thing.

Inventory:
He has his tunic, a satchel for carrying his belongings, a few rations in case he needs to travel, a flask of water and his sewing needles.
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[@Rune_Alchemist] Here is my character. Hopefully he is acceptable.