Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious slithers into view with all the pomp and grandeur of a self-declared genius who has rehearsed his entrance down to the last flourish. His long, sinuous body coils and curves with an elegance that borders on regal, scales gleaming like polished obsidian brushed with golden sheen. He towers with an air of aristocratic pride, spine straight, chin lifted, and tail sweeping behind him in slow, dramatic waves that announce his presence before he ever speaks a word. His face is a striking blend of villain theatrics and cartoon charm — long, pointed snout, sharp fanged grin, and expressive yellow eyes ringed in black, glowing with manic ambition. Those eyes narrow to confident slits whenever he’s concocting a plan, then widen into gleeful saucers when inspiration strikes. Every expression flickers through him with exaggerated clarity, as though he’s performing on a stage only he can see. Pentious’s attire is a masterpiece of retro-steampunk flair. His dark waistcoat is lined with golden piping, each button shining like a miniature sun against the deep fabric. His layered collar fans out like a mechanical bloom, stiff and dramatic, framing his head like the ornate crest of a showman ready to unveil his latest invention. The oversized top hat perched proudly on his head completes the silhouette — tall, pointed, and tipped slightly forward, casting him in perpetual shadowed mystery. From his belt and bandoliers hang delicate brass gadgets, spare gears, vials of volatile concoctions, and hastily scribbled notes rolled into tiny scrolls. Tubes and valves twist around him like metallic serpents, hissing faintly with promise or danger. His gloved hands are always busy — flipping switches, twisting knobs, or flourishing dramatically as he monologues about progress, innovation, or the inevitability of his glorious rise to power.