You are confronted by a flabby mountain of a man wading through his own fat in an effort to stay upright. Tired eyes stare back at you from his tiny face, too small for his enormous blob of a head. There isn't a trace of a neck or elbows or indeed knees - just a blubber of pale bulbous skin. He is sweating profoundly like a drunk goose at a pate exhibition attempting to grasp his hook of a weapon with his wet stubby fingers. Ill-fitting armor appears to be strapped on to him in an effort to protect his vital organs yet there is a feeling of inadequacy compared to the excess layers of flesh. He smells faintly of lavender.