I like to type words at people. Very often, I like to type fuck words at people. I'm mostly on Sinfar to type the fuck words at/with other people. I'm not really shy about why I'm here, I encourage you not to be, too.
What exactly is a Sol? Well. A Sol is a large, nine foot beast of a demon with dusky skin, charred hands, and a body covered in scars. But that didn't give much detail, so let's go in deeper, shall we?
A glance . . .
Standing at nine feet, even, this darkly wrapped bag of flesh and bones isn't something one would bother to ever be alone with in some dark, secluded alley. But he hardly seemed the type to take advantage of that anyways. With a mop of black hair, peppered with silvery grey strands, he came off as one word: Old. Stubble marked his face, perpetual perhaps, and a set of luminous golden eyes peered out at the word with an unusually keen insight for one of his kind. That voice was a deep, rich baritone, a kind of gravel that sounded as if a boulder was tumbling down a crumbling mountainside, and when he moved-- Sol always moved laboriously, taking his time to move from once place to the next, and with a deliberation and surity of purpose that would make most mountains think twice. While he might look like Cerberus' chew toy, the demon himself didn't seem all that threatening or dangerous, at a glance, anyhow. He had an almost warm appeal about him, an understanding that would make some Devas envious, and some priests furious, but empathy was always a trademark of humanity, wasn't it? And that's what Sol was. Living proof that even in corruption, humanity can still make a stand. Even steeped in the inky black inchor of evil itself, it can prevail. With the right suppourt, and the right choices.
The Physicality . . .
His frame was wreathed in muscle, not the kind of bulging muscle you'd see on a barbarian, or someone used to swinging large weapons to and fro every chance they got. But the muscle of someone adapted to life on the road, travel, and the necessity of use. His entire build practically screamed 'martial artist', as there was hardly any fat to his form these days. But even the good parts had drawbacks. His flesh was pockmarked with scars. Arrow punctures, garrote wounds, whip lashes, acid burns. You name it, he had it, like a road map to pain itself. But it didn't dampen his spirits much. His hands were probably the most surprising, usually covered in gloves, and tipped with small claws-- these days. They were charred. Blackened palms and fingers that seemed as if his palms themselves were decaying. They held strong, and his grip was as powerful as ever. But ... In pressure, there wasn't any doubt that they'd fold. Behind him sprouted a shaggy, rough tail, thick with that same black hair, and also marked with tiny flecks of white and grey.
The Depraved . . .
The demon wasn't a stranger to bedroom antics, and what most people considered normal, Sol was anything but. Behind closed doors, it was a bit much. A demon of greed, his fluids carried with them the indelible tinge of corruption, and moreover, addiction. His curse had that demonic breeder constantly leaking out an array of pheromones that could turn a nose or moisten a groin. A heady miasma of virility and the stolid encroachment of suggestion. But that wasn't where most people found their solace, that was below the belt, and if they were so lucky to see it-- a turgid mast of girthy dickmeat. Wreathed in black veins and capable of puncturing into a womb and gutfucking some unfortunate soul. The demon was, by all accounts, messy-- with thick throngs of his bubbling fuckslime oozing from the end of that obscene, knotted pole at the slightest hint of arousal, and with those twin orbs pulsing in a wicked metronome, it didn't suggest any end.
:: OOC ::
I'm here sparingly these days. If you want information on Sol, you find it here.
You know that Solomon tends to favour large chested and wide hipped people of the feminine persuasion. You know that Solomon has a big slab of fuckmeat with a penchant for wombfucking people, and quite possibly breeding them or knocking them up. You know that Solomon has a heavy knot that he plugs people with, and cums like the demon he is. You know all these things because I am reverse meta-gaming them to you.
By contrast, you know that Solomon probably doesn't like to chase after his 'prey', being the big lazy dog he is. He isn't likely to force anyone into doing anything, and he does not particularly care for poop stuff.