Sir Fitesalot

Age: Ageless, appears in his mid-30s 
Race/Species: Human/Demi-god 
Physical Appearance: Sir Fitesalot is a towering figure, standing at nearly eight feet tall with a chiseled physique that seems to have been sculpted from the very essence of war itself. 
A thick mane of raven-black hair cascades down his broad shoulders, often tied back in a warrior's knot to keep it out of his eyes during combat. His face is stern and angular, with a strong jawline and a proud, aquiline nose. His most striking feature, however, is the intricate gold plate armor that adorns his body. The armor is not merely a suit of protection but a living tapestry of his conquests, etched with the names and emblems of the enemies he has defeated. The red cloth that accents his armor is stained with the crimson of battle, a stark contrast to the gleaming gold. 
Background: Born to a mortal blacksmith and the goddess of war, Sir Fitesalot was named in jest by his parents, unaware of the fate that awaited their son. As he grew, it became increasingly clear that he had inherited more than just his mother's fiery temperament. His rage was an ever-present force within him, a boiling cauldron of anger that sought an outlet in the clash of steel and the screams of the vanquished. His mother, regretful of her gift, bestowed upon him a divine curse—immortality, so that he might have eternity to wage his wars and conquer his foes. Driven by his never-ending anger and a thirst for battle. 
Personality: Sir Fitesalot is a creature of passion and fury, his every action fueled by the anger that burns within his soul. Yet, his anger is a double-edged sword—it makes him a formidable warrior but also a harsh ruler. His moods swing like the pendulum of a grand clock, from the fiercest of rages to the coldest of calculative strategies. War is both his purpose and his release, a cycle that he cannot escape. Despite his divine lineage, he is not without moments of introspection, questioning the endless cycle of destruction he has been born into. Yet, the siren's call of battle is too strong, and he wields his immense power to expand Adramis' borders, seeking new lands to conquer and new enemies to destroy. In his rare moments of peace, Sir Fitesalot finds solace in the forge, crafting weapons of unparalleled beauty and lethality. The clang of hammer on anvil is a balm to his troubled mind, a reminder of his mortal upbringing and the simple joy of creation amidst the chaos of his life.