From the shadows of a derilict factory complex, two red eyes watch everyone, missing nothing. Sat in the corner, Baz loads solid slug rounds into his shotgun. He stands to his full height of three feet and one half-inch, slinging the weapon across his back. Melting into the shadows of an alley, he heads towards Janus and his "companions".<br/><br/>As mentioned before, he stands three feet and 1/2" tall. He's a rat, and glossy black in colour. His eyes almost glow red, their lack of pigment making him seem almost sinister as they seem to glow in even the slightest light- a feature common to his Clan, one of the many Highlander clans of the Abberdow Mountains. He wears a drab olive flak jacket covered in pockets and pouches and loops. Most of the loops hold shotgun shells, though six of them contain cigars. Around his waist he wears a hefty leather belt, one that holds up a green, red and blue kilt that bears the unique Tartan of his clan. To complete his outfit, he wears a green beret.<br/><br/>Across his back, he carries two weapons- his 12-guage pump action shotgun, which he almost always uses, and his Claymore Zweihander sword (though in the hands of any others, it'd be a swortsword). At his hip he has a small dagger, and strapped to his ankles he has four Skein Dhu daggers.<br/><br/>He grins as he nears the human and his aquaintances, drawing his shotgun. To get their attention, he pumps the weapon and grins, "Wha' ye up to laddies?" he asks, a cigar wedged into his diastema, glowing in the semi-darkness. On Earth, his accent would instantly be called Scottish. Here, it's merely known as Highland. "Imma nae interruptin' anythin', am I?"