Pasquot is a bare headed human with dusky skin and a large, hawkish nose. His eyes are curiously yellow, and the tips of his fingers and a ring around his lips hold the same sickly dandelion hue. He's huge, though. Well over six and a half feet tall, with muscles like corded wood, his body dangling with fetishes and formulae, and clad in tattered leathers poorly cured that mark him as a Numerian Barbarian. His arms are bare to the forearm, where plain steel bracers hug his hands to the wrist, and leather gloves with a padded back, covered in studs, hide his hands to the first joint of the fingers, and the rest hangs bare. Hung from his shoulders are a pair of dangling bandoliers laden with potions and alchemical reagents, while leaning on his shoulder, unable to be strapped on, sheathed, or otherwise 'put away' is a five foot long shard of grey-white to dark-grey mottled metal, ten inches wide in the middle, strapped bodily to a long shaft of wood. Clearly of unearthly origin, the weapon features partial writing, a twist of tortured metal along the 'blade' edge, and what appears to be a vent half-way towards the tip. A plain wooden rod bounces on his hip, the back end chisel-shaped, an alchemist's pick used for scraping utensils clean, and a large wood-framed backpack drapes from his shoulders.
Pasquot (PAS-kwat) is a Kellid warrior of the Bauga tribe, of Numeria. Tribes of Kellids avoid the Technic League because of tribes like the Bauga, who ran afoul of the magical cult when they established a temporary home on one of the starfall ruins that dot the savage landscape. Having discovered a medical robot who adapted to their language and repaired sickness and disease, as well as modifying several members of the tribe with technological or cybernetic augments, the Bauga were suddenly catapulted into several months of golden age level prosperity. Hardship melted away as previously crippling wounds were dealt with instantly by the many-armed device, and warriors made faster and stronger and more alert by the changes to their bodies brought down mammoth game and drew starmetals from the ground to forge new weapons and armors.
Sadly this would not last long. A mere five months into the enrichment of the tribe, one bright Erastus morning, a troupe of heavily armed Technic League mercenaries led by several talented spellcasters marched on the Bauga and nearly wiped them out to a man. Those that scattered into the wilderness survived, and a nomadic lifestyle likely means there are several surviving Bauga in the world, but their chief, their maker, their shaman... all dead. With those Bauga that made it out scattered to the wind and the great majority of the technological claim recovered by the Technic League, a fifteen year old Pasquot was left to fend for himself in the wild. Surviving on small game run down and what basic trapping and fishing, he made his way to several neighboring tribes, only to be turned away as a 'bad omen'.
Resolute, however, the young barbarian dedicated himself to his revenge, becoming sullen and insular, and throwing himself at whatever work he could scrounge to pay for lessons that would teach him more about the mysteries that had been stolen from his people. Remembering those months with a hazy glow of halcyon nostalgia, he grew to be obsessed with starmetals, the power of technological wonders, and the path of self improvement that would make him the kind of monster that can wipe the League from the face of Golarion.
Now an embittered young man on a mission of revenge, Pasquot has been experimenting on himself for almost a year now, with some unfortunate side effects. His constitution has suffered somewhat from the repeated exposure to fumes and chemicals only partially understood, and his attitude is soured by his regret at the loss of his people, his feeling of shame and helplessness at having to run away from the fight where his people stood and died, and the crushing loneliness of his existence in the wilds of Numeria. Smarter than the average man, he's still managed to dull his own mental potential by constantly pumping chemicals that amplify his physical abilities, and the exposure has left him with sickly stains and jaundiced eyes, and skin that burns painfully red in the sun.
Taking every opportunity to thwart the plans of the Technic League he has heard that a nearby settlement called 'Torch', also known for dealing in the precious (and obsessive) skymetals is having significant issues that he immediately attributes to Technic League tampering. Setting out for the town, he leans into the wind, and vows to take everything from them, and never let them take anything from another ever again. Not while he can help it.
Note: While Pasquot does not speak androffan, he's -covered- in the language. He still carries zoic fetishes of twisted hair and latticed bones, and the various and sundry chunks of steel, bone, and glaucite he's scavenged are either already printed with, or he has painted painstakingly with the signs and letters of the star people. As a result he has words on him like 'down' and 'danger' and 'this', all nonsense and sometimes partial words or single letters, that he believes hold some secret insight.