Judas Leyndell | Stupid, Young & Free

A 6'7" 270 pound, 21 year old, tan and corpulent male with a messy dark brown straight haired mid-length layered wolfcut, sharp jawline and pronounced eyebrows. Green eyes, and a scar running from the brow ridge down to the nose and across left cheek. Also a demi-human, the ram man kind. With large split hooves for feet and a thick fur coating all over except the palms and human face with a ram-like snout for a nose and mouth. Layered cloth and leather with a base layer of chainmail peaking out at my abdomen and legs. A long tunic on that draped down below my waist, my legs clad in a fauld that was tied tight around my calves with thick ropes, black, worn boots below the rope. Similar ropes also held pouches and bags around my waist, running up on my back to my right shoulder to hold up a sole metal pauldron on my left shoulder, a dark, worn steel showing from below a big scarf that hid my whole neck and opposing shoulder, hanging down my back like a half cape. Arms were covered by wide sleeves of the tunic until my elbows, below which long gauntlets of the same steel as the pauldrons guarded my hands to forearms. Judas is a young spirit in every definition of the word. Holds no large responsibilities, or rather, none that he acknowledged or likes to be aware of. As a child of a mountain village encased by snowfall and large rocks, the ram-man grew up in a large family of smiths that prioritized nothing but family first as they knew not much else of anything. Judas thought different, having seen a peek of the outside world once when tasked with retrieving a cart that had been intercepted in harsh weather. Wide scapes beyond the mountains, trees like he hadn't seen before, rivers so long he couldn't see the end of them, it captivated him. So one day, after he turned 17, he took a great-hammer he forged by his very own self, he snuck out into the real world. He didn't end up needing it, not there, not yet. All it basically was, was a long stroll outside his comfort zone, a good start. He returned the same morning before anyone took notice of his disappearence. It wasn't until his travels took him too far and he wound up battling lesser undead, and returned home late in the evening covered in ash and dried blood that he got a scolding of a lifetime, a lifelong mountain arrest, and a real taste of the whole world. And he found it addicting. So he never really stopped, despite his peers' disapproving glances and murmurs. It all developed a sense of freedom and justice in him, he learned to appreciate nature in a way he never thought possible, and those same people that hold that appreciation are friends to him. There's a certain knowledge in him that he refuses to think about too hard, though. The fact that he can, and already multiple times made, a real difference. Baring the weight of wide-scaped responsibility is a nightmare, even for the largest of warriors trained in nature's hard nurturing. Also has a very personal problem with wyrms, specifically magma ones. It's a combination of fear of them and the way fear maneuvers into a fight-or-flight instinct, and unless it's him or anything, or one, he treasures on the line - it's always fight.