Reaching a height of six feet and ten inches, Ted is colossal compared to most. His tough and leathery pink skin shows obvious signs of aging and Sunrifter light, with abundant blemishes and wrinkles as proof. Atop his head he bears a bucket that spills his lengthy and tangled saffron locks, which obviously have never fought the teeth of a comb. His beard is just the same, lengthy and mangled until reaching his hefty paunch. His protruding belly is further accented by a tight-fitting navy ‘tunic’, which is consumed by his rolls whenever he sits.
Over the tunic, he carries a simple tan cloth vest. Greasy and disheveled, it is perhaps one of the few articles of clothing that outsize ole’ Teddy. Between the vest’s poorly embroidered images and nonsensical words is an assortment of stains and splotches, each providing their own unique color and smell. Ted’s pumpkin-orange trousers compensate for his disappearing tunic by barely hugging his belly button. The cuffs of his trousers have been eaten away by his aged leather boots. He has yet to invest in a pair of suspenders or a belt, so one may be in for an unpleasant surprise when trailing behind him.
There are few occasions when Ted’s thunderous bass voice will lull; namely when engorging himself or after a fulfilling drink. When not directly communicating with others or when traveling about, he will resort to babbling alone.
He always seems to reek of roasted corn and fried turkey. For what reason, not even the gods may know!
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