Baird_Kjyord

Long Description

This obsidian-skinned creature is obviously some form of demonic blood intermingled with either human or elvish descent. Not quite as close to either ancestor, but not farther either. If at best, he is a perfect balance of his bloodlines, to some. To others, he's just another halfbreed freak.

This is where the comparisons end, for despite his well-toned figure, chiseled to athletic perfection. He's extremely nimble, down to his thickly-built tail's spaded tip. A person who observes him exert himself strenuously would note he seems to have complete muscle-control over his body. Which could make more than a few pause at approaching him. After all, you don't just walk up to a fiendish looking guy and expect them to have all their marbles, do you?

Though! To any who is (un)fortunate enough to speak with him, finds he's an utterly whim-driven creature. At one moment wanting to wrestle around and fight, or at another instant wanting to tinker with his latest 'invention' (even if someone else already made it). There's not any real chance of predicting exactly what he might enjoy doing that day.

Wearing his usual garb of leather armor with a metal plate over his chest (you know, as if he bothered caring what it protects). His elbow-length gloves are fingerless, allowing his semi-sharp claws to be easily seen. His horns are smoothly curved back, almost gracefully so. His hooves are a shiny black obsidian, and his hair is inky black with silvery streaks that poke out here and there, teasingly so - as if to deny him from that perfect black mane of hair to match his skin. His left eye is red, whilst the right is a vivid gold and they seem to glow in any lighting. A permanent smirk tugs at his lips as if something amused him.

Given his scope of professions, one might expect him to carry a small plethora of tools and things that go 'boom' to assist him. In such a case, they aren't disappointed. Firstly, most people notice the ornate flintlock pistol usually stuffed haphazardly into a snug place on one of his belts. It's silvery-steel barrel pounded from mithril and it's wooden grip formed from carefully carved and enchanted ironwood; the entire weapon fashioned in the Queen Anne fashion of it's type. Along the plant-style motif etched onto the barrel is a time-worn name, the only truly legible part by the name of "Bourgeoys" is surrounded by a blooming flower near the base of the barrel.

His tattered cape, once a larger cloak that most people might have worn, cut from what was probably really durable cloth is now patched here and there and rips are sewn back together in careful fashion. The cape itself seems especially worn down, though it's hemmed length seems to hint it was made for someone a lot younger than the dark-skinned rogue. It holds dozens of small pockets, some enchanted by concealing magics that make it almost seem comical that he can pull out entire lock-picking kits or a collapsed spyglass ready for use from the cape.

His doubled-over belt was made for a creature far larger than himself, the buckle holding the double-looped leather from some probably-mythical creature is styled of Tragedy and Comedy masks. The belt itself is extremely durable and seems worn, yet far from worn out. Subtle strength-giving enchantments are woven into the material, while the buckle itself is an interesting device. The masks are able to be plucked free from the actual buckle they conceal, and in times of dire necessity used to jaunt the tar-skinned thief through solid objects as if they weren't there. Though it's powers aren't entirely certain, some hint that it's a symbol of total illusion, and that the half-demon you see isn't the real one.

Though, his ability to slip into the bordering plane/dimension of shadow is one that might lend to this idea. The noticeable effect when this happens is a small rift of inky black 'smoke' that curls and swirls in place before vanishing. To those with extremely powerful or supernatural senses, they may perceive him as wreathed in shadowy wisps, making no sound and no heat. Able to move almost entirely invisible before appearing once more through another curling rift of shadow. This ability once a drain to his stamina, now not quite such a problem as he's done more work towards mastering it's uses.

Next, his armor itself is actually an infamous suit that reforms, molds and even changes qualities as it's wearer desires. On his person, it appears as a very light chest plate, bound to him by boiled leather straps. His legs and down to his hooves clad in mithril-styled metal that is smooth, somewhat glossy, yet doesn't reflect light quite like metal should. Lastly his hooves, since he can not wear boots, have a set of silver horseshoes stamped into the bottoms of them, forming a resounding clop of a sound as he walks, though drifting eerily silent when he slips in a more stealthy mindset. Though not entirely dead-silent, a very careful listener would hear the very muffled sound of them. No doubt this suit of armor at work to help it's master.

Lastly, not quite an item on his person, more so an ability from his blood, his ability to outright ignore fire, even magically created flames. An inborn ability to breathe smoke and exhale it at a whim even baffles some onlookers. Though he uses this for surprises on would-be captors or foes. A telltale sign of his mood easily seen through his hair and breathing. Notably as his emotions heighten, his thick mane of hair replaces those silver strands with warmly glowing orange, sometimes red. His breathing takes on the sound of a whirling chasm of heat, his exhaled breaths hot enough to distort the air and sometimes even singe objects and wilt plants. Though if he can breathe fire, he sure as hell would like to know, he's tried before and failed utterly. Usually at the comedic expense of him looking like an idiot. Not like he has to ~try~ to do that!


Naughty Description

For the flesh-loving inclined, Baird is not shortcoming. His equine manhood swells out from it's sheathe to a rigid and twitching three feet in length. The girth of his beastly horse-shaft being just as thick as a grown man's forearm. It's tip is almost flat, puffed up and flared out, with a teardrop shaped cumslit that now and then weeps precum when he's aroused. It isn't too often that he ~isn't~ aroused, either. The length of this shaft is ridged by tough muscles, made almost like a ribbed condom wishes it could feel like. Veins interlaced across it's surface and twitching as they beat in unison. The underbelly of that shaft holds a tightly packed stripe of muscle, which controls that cum-spurting capacity of his shaft. The muscle-ridged stripe leading down and disappearing into the more tender skin of his balls, specifically right between the two black spheres.

As for his virility, there is no question of it. His cum-churning balls are as big as bowling balls, and for those unlucky enough to meet his voracious side, they'd find that they are hyper-fast in transforming his prey into plentiful, potent sperm. The skin holding those twin orbs is tight, smooth and supple. Sensitive to the touch even, as no hair befouls his flesh. The surface of those orbs ripples now and then, sometimes with the feeble struggles of those within, sometimes with the subtle flexing of his muscles, conjuring up a rope of cum to spurt at someone.