RURAN...
MADOC...
- Takes a little potted sprout with him wherever he travels, setting it on the windowsill of whichever random inn he's staying that night. He tends to it almost religiously, making it part of his morning and nightly ritual.
- Prefers his mask now more than his actual face, and if given the choice, he would not take it off at all, even in the privacy of his own room. When feeling nervous or uncertain, he can often be found adjusting and testing its security.
- Loves heights, and it's not uncommon to find him relaxing on rooftops or in trees during his downtime. He can maneuver around quite easily and has a trained sense of balance, when not weighed down by plated armor.
- Is cautious of firearms, magitek, and explosives; he would not touch them with a ten-foot pole. He can barely handle even conversing about some of them without freezing up or lashing out in fear.
- ...is highly proficient in firearms, magitek, and explosives. How unfortunate.
MADOC...
- Gives nicknames to anyone he finds endearing. He thinks of it as a neat little game to come up with a single word to summarize an entire person. Most end up taking a liking to it.
- Picks at his broken horn when feeling contemplative. He also keeps the broken pieces of said horn stashed away for some reason. Hide your shame, Madoc.
- Wears so few shirts (even in battle) that his comrades are utterly shocked when he does. He has taken up wearing a red coat now and then, which still provides plenty of fresh air for the abs.
- Chooses a different drink every time he goes to a tavern. No one knows which one is his favorite, and he is quite smug in not telling anyone what he prefers. He likes to make them guess.
