Jimothy Esme always seemed a moment away from a smile breaking upon his face, a jest or good word at the ready.  His black hair hung to his brows, but kept clear of his face so his warm brown eyes could watch for trouble – from how they sparkled with wit and wisdom, he likely enough saw more than he spoke.  At 5’11, the human male sported a young adult’s healthy frame, but a slight hitch in some of his movement bespoke some long ago injury or illness that had deprived him of his full former measure.  A fashionable thin moustache matched a trimmed jawline beard.

Behind a laminated shield of amber-hued wood, a suit of green scales over leather -all seemingly fresh and unworn with the years- served as protection for his body. Both shoulders of the scalemail had additional leather padding – not for protection, as one might presume, but to serve as a resting pad for the brownish-grey-black owl who gazed silently from whichever shoulder was selected as perch. Upon his shield, and hanging from a golden chain around his neck, the gold and silver sun symbols of Deus, the One and True, hang proudly.

A half-full backsack sporting a hammer and pitons, a thick but light silken rope, a couple belt pouches for his few coins, a crossbow and case of bolts, a bedroll, a sturdy mace at his side for protection from brigands and their ilk
– certainly this traveler was ready for the world – but is it ready for him?