Pete Boggs, a fighter man whom is definitely not on the run and is totally using his real name and not a pseudonym originating from an insult.
Scared of frogs but entranced by dirty floaties in water.
Pete is a tall and lanky fellow with dirty piecemeal armor and dingy crusty clothes with a brown satchel caked in mud. He uses a thin great sword that looks intentionally chipped and whittled on both sides, like a flimsy flamberge. The handle and pommel are rusted over on the top and bottom with the handfacing sides knapped down to keep his mismatched gloves from nicking or powdering red.
Dull, quiet, and somewhat deranged Pete only speaks with kind warmth or tired sardonicism.