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forrestertailor"Your nails will be ruined one way or the other, if we're going about this goblin affair."
Luka stands seven feet tall, wearing a pair of steel pauldrons layered and shaped to his broad shoulders over his Ulster coat of Loden green wool. The coat's short cape is strapped down by the leather ties of the armor, which form an X over his puffed chest and are buckled in the center by a steel clasp shaped like a snake eating his own tail. His face is dark blue, angular and bearded, his hair is precisely braided for travel. Under the heavy green drape of the coat he wears blackened leathers, well cut, formfitting and sensible for a seasoned adventurer. Around his waist there are two large daggers with jade and ivory handles, a zweihander strapped to his back. Despite the overtly wrought nature of the rest of him, his expression is frank and rather silly.
Around them the camp is sparse, but well constructed. Luka's tent is as big as the rest of him, embroidered green and black silks propped into a space that's kept militaristically tidy, and tarped overhead with sealskin to keep the worst of the elements from ruining his nice fabrics. Behind him the big draft horse, called Horse, who carries Luka's endless cedar luggages is plotting his next move in their extremely acrimonious partnership.
"But worry not, my dear." He inclines his head and smiles, a show of bright, very sharp teeth. "When your poor little arms give out I'll be there to carry you and the spoils back."
Then, as if obliging a wish from the other vampire, Luka raises an arm from under his caped coat and flexes the bicep of his left arm. It's as big around as Astarion's head.
Luka stands seven feet tall, wearing a pair of steel pauldrons layered and shaped to his broad shoulders over his Ulster coat of Loden green wool. The coat's short cape is strapped down by the leather ties of the armor, which form an X over his puffed chest and are buckled in the center by a steel clasp shaped like a snake eating his own tail. His face is dark blue, angular and bearded, his hair is precisely braided for travel. Under the heavy green drape of the coat he wears blackened leathers, well cut, formfitting and sensible for a seasoned adventurer. Around his waist there are two large daggers with jade and ivory handles, a zweihander strapped to his back. Despite the overtly wrought nature of the rest of him, his expression is frank and rather silly.
Around them the camp is sparse, but well constructed. Luka's tent is as big as the rest of him, embroidered green and black silks propped into a space that's kept militaristically tidy, and tarped overhead with sealskin to keep the worst of the elements from ruining his nice fabrics. Behind him the big draft horse, called Horse, who carries Luka's endless cedar luggages is plotting his next move in their extremely acrimonious partnership.
"But worry not, my dear." He inclines his head and smiles, a show of bright, very sharp teeth. "When your poor little arms give out I'll be there to carry you and the spoils back."
Then, as if obliging a wish from the other vampire, Luka raises an arm from under his caped coat and flexes the bicep of his left arm. It's as big around as Astarion's head.
