Bitey Short Stack King, Kibir is by default a sealskin-pants wearing spear wielding mercenary loosely based on the Assyrian equivalent in a friend’s “wet Mesopotamia” PNW-inspired setting. Recently I’ve also been playing him on TapestriesMUCK as a sci-fi / modern soldier in a shady PMC focused on keeping the supernatural in check.
Moodboards + Inspo
https://www.pinterest.com/snowmiaux/northern-oak-armor/
Kibir’s Descriptions
Literary
A man shaped not by the thumb of god or the blades of fate, but by the dumb luck of his own caprices, which have repeatedly overcome both divinity and mortal vicissitudes out of pure manic energy; his muscles, like the smooth stones that blanket a water’s edge, begging exploration by those who stand before them, were born from the crucible of ill-planned adventures and impulsive exertion.
That toothsome smile, barred by keen teeth and set in eager jaws, receives much exercise from foe and bedmate alike.
Dress Uniform
This canine is rough-hewn by whimsy and violence, handsome by accidents of gluttony and persistence – Chaos thinly veiled in a suit, entropy barely tamed with a tie.
An absolute mutt, his exact lineage may be indecipherable. Rock solid build, wide flat muzzle, triangular ears, freakishly prominent scruff, a poofy curling tail. Yet also long claws, divided pads, wavy silken hair and enormous bright fangs that overflow his oft-grinning maw. He’s the color of a dark river – a muddied teal, with socks of clean dirt-brown on all four limbs, and bright, pure whitewater-froth fur accenting his digits, face, ears, and cascading down his front. Like rocks pounded flat by rapids, his build resembles stacks of smooth stones. Muscular calves, biceps, and shoulders are nearly impossible to hide with clothes, but even a t-shirt trying to contain his packed pectorals and river-rock abs would be borderline indecent. The analogy of piled stones is even more apt, as even with his ears perked he couldn’t stand more than five-foot-five. They peek up through wavy hair a shade darker than his fur, tamed into a tight bun which partly obscures a mint-green streak.
The counter-shaded short-stack king is dressed to impress in a finely made, likely tailored uniform: A slate grey jacket and slacks recalls the skies over Chehon, with piping on the cuffs, shoulders and lapels in an almost gaudy pistachio grey-green, with bronze for buttons and a buckle for a wide black belt, matching smart black dress shoes. Woven leather chord reminiscent of twined tree roots hangs down on one arm from the shoulder, and both sides get a white patch with a logogram of a silver oak tree in between the words “NORTHERN” and “OAK.” Beneath the suit, a black tie with a bright green malachite clip almost prepares one for the deep hunter-green dress shirt. Accessories on his belt include holsters for a sidearm and a non-folding, curved knife (presumably occupied) and a bulky long-range radio (presumably, off)
Tekwear
This canine is rough-hewn by whimsy and violence, handsome by accidents of gluttony and persistence – Sharp fashion can’t hide his razor teeth, no unit patch can conceal his restless blood.
An absolute mutt, his exact lineage indecipherable. Rock solid build, wide flat muzzle, triangular ears, thick scruff, a poofy curling tail. Long claws, divided pads, wavy silken hair and enormous bright fangs that overflow his oft-grinning maw. He’s the color of a dark river – muddy teal, with socks of clean dirt-brown on all four limbs, and bright, pure whitewater-froth fur accenting his fingers, face, ears, and front. Like rocks pounded flat by rapids, his build resembles stacks of smooth stones. Muscular calves, biceps, shoulders and river-rock abs show beneath nearly any outfit. The image of piled stones is fitting, as even with ears perked he couldn’t stand more than five-foot-five. Wavy hair a shade darker than his fur with a bright mint-green streak tumbles rakishly over one side of his face, the rest half-assedly stuffed into a loose man-bun.
The stout canine is equipped in fashionable streetwear, yet carries his affiliation with the subtlety of a sponsored racing rocket. A striking white jacket with diagonal quilting echoes a knight’s gambeson, cut through with pale green geometric panels that highlight the ripped dog’s physique. A jagged-edge flap wraps across his chest from one side without visible closures. Black panels among the quilting sketch out a face, turning the flap into a snarling, stylized wolf’s head in profile – a motif echoed in black stitching resembling windblown tufts of white fur on back and shoulders. Below the mock shoulder-fluff are wordless militaristic patches: A silver oak tree, and a spyglass wrapped in thorns.
In contrast, the dog’s lower body has much simpler covering – skintight leggings in a deep cyan color hug everything from his hips and tailbase down in exquisite detail, and either a subtle color choice or a hint of translucency allows the tights to reflect the dog’s known lighter-colored front and thighs. To clear the jacket his black webbed belt is slung quite low on the dog’s rump. From it hangs a commset, a suspiciously sidearm shaped fabric pouch, and a larger white pack with an added thigh-strap and multiple zipped compartments.
Combat Armor
A dog-shaped form hand-carved by the violence of his compassion, cut figure chiseled by the bullets of his heart – A cresting wave sloshing in a vest, a howl caged in a headset.
An absolute mutt, his exact lineage may be indecipherable. Rock solid build, wide flat muzzle, triangular ears, freakishly prominent scruff, a poofy curling tail. Yet also long claws, divided pads, wavy silken hair and enormous bright fangs that overflow his oft-grinning maw. He’s the color of a dark river – a muddied teal, with socks of clean dirt-brown on all four limbs, and bright, pure whitewater-froth fur accenting his digits, face, ears, and cascading down his front. Like rocks pounded flat by rapids, his build resembles stacks of smooth stones. Muscular calves, biceps, and shoulders are nearly impossible to hide with clothes, but even a t-shirt trying to contain his packed pectorals and river-rock abs would be borderline indecent. The analogy of piled stones is even more apt, as even with his ears perked he couldn’t stand more than five-foot-five. They peek up through wavy hair a shade darker than his fur, tamed into a tight bun which partly obscures a mint-green streak.
Combat armor and camouflage soften the edges of the hound’s cut figure, but sharpen a sense of danger, purpose, and conformity. Twill jacket and pants bear a unique camo pattern built from a triangular grid, but from afar it resembles colorless, flickering flames and wind-tossed white fur, wholly subsuming his own coat. A combat vest and harness lack visible modularity yet carry ample gear for swift urban ops or fierce riot control, most unusually several handcuffs with a dull, hammered finish. Tucked among the camouflage are patches – the silver tree embossed with “NORTHERN OAK”, and an unlabeled logogram of a spyglass wrapped in kudzu. The camouflage and angular armor regrettably hide some of the shortstack Hound’s unique physical charms, yet suggests a larger, regal, almost lupine shape.
A snout-hugging helmet with little bunkers for his ears clips to his vest, and a slim radio headset rarely leaves his skull. A web belt supports a small caliber sidearm, radio/comms kit, and a holster for a surprisingly large knife with a dog-leg bend in the middle. A large, sturdy SMG or rotary four-barreled grenade launcher is often slung when on patrol, spare magazines or shells for either visibly marked in a bright pastel green color.