Name: Leonart Arimat Edgarus III (But his friends call him Leo)
Age: 67 (about 19 when compared with a Human's lifespan)
Race: Kaiman (Your usual human plus a few extra qualities. They are usually a bit taller than humans, though no more thin, and have tanned skin, darkened hair, amber or golden eyes.
Kaimans have a reputation for being crafty, sneaky bastards who could blend in just as well with a flock of Pink-tassled Baroc as they could with a Gretuska and murder the entire lot of them before they noticed they were being shot at. Then they would drag the lot of them back home and proceed to eat them as their three square meals a day for the next couple of months.
They also have a reputation for stretching the truth and going overboard with their fantastic stories.)
Appearance: Leo is the goddamned authority on hunting, having written enough books about the subject and killed enough creatures to stock a small library and mount heads on every inch of the wall, so he bloody well looks like it. He's 6'5", garbed in personalised armour that looks like something from a fashionista's worst nightmare but a hunter's best friend. His hair is unusually light for a Kaiman, a brown tinge reflected ----
Role: Hunter
Equipment: He wears the usual hunter's garb, tanned leather sewn expertly together to give maximum protection while sacrificing no mobility, with a few added spoils which include a cape and brooch made from the bodies of animals he has killed. Baroc, eygars, baby drogan, you name it and he's probably got some of it's fur in his cape, and perhaps a bit of their skeleton holding it in place. He has a metal pad, on his right shoulder, with a little flame designed crest embedded onto it and the letters "Z.A.M.S", though he refuses to tell you what this means and similar pads on his knees and a metallic mesh over his chest.
His longbow is a similar affair. He took a perfectly bog standard longbow and set to work customising it. As such a large blue Gebaroc feather winds from the top to the bottom, a red Sibaroc one running in the opposite direction, both providing enough strength to prevent the bow from snapping or breaking as an arrow is drawn back. A drogan tooth sticks from the bottom, allowing him to stand it up in the ground (if the ground is suitably soft and stable) or stab people without having to fumble for another weapon.
The quiver he keeps his arrows in gets the same treatment, to expect otherwise would be foolish. He has put two quivers together, holding them with an unidentifiable type of ribcage and wrapping them with ironweed, an anti-rust herb.