Nyktan Baskatasi

Portrait

Description
::Basics:: Name: Nyktan Clan Name: Baskatasi Race: Catfolk Height: 5'11" Scent: Sulfur, Blood and "Spices", Opium, Tobacco, Sweat, and Grime. Voice: Raspy with Snarls and trills, purrs vibrating the end of each of his sentences, in a Sabani-esque accent. ::Detailed Biography:: He was covered head-to-toe in drab dirty cloth and dark dingy metals. He seemed to be another catfolk, or atleast related to catfolk, baring a strange mixture of cat and humanlike features, giving the odd line of both looking, and not looking like both mixes. Notably, Wearing a mix of dark blacks and browns, with rusted trimming often used as well, It was only notable in the sense of how UN-notable it strived to be, no signs of faith, allegiences or ties to anyone or thing. As if he was as free as can be, nothing on him could be used as information against him. Onto his body, was a sandy brown furred form, holding a lithe toned and muscular body - the body, belonging to a hunter, keeping to the cliche' of most catfolk. Beneath the armor, Scars were abundant and often interrupted the grow-pattern of his fur, leaving faint grey or pink wounds on the skin beneath, the scars seemed to be a sign of a harsh life lived, ranging from bites, to claw marks, and the occational blade's edge mark. His fur was stained with grime and dirt from a lack of consistent bathing, and held a range of scents, from tobacco smoke, grime, sand and even, spice cigarettes, blood, and when caught in the rain, the musky scent of a Stray Cat. Something was off about this Feline, it wasn't only his eyes, the color of a deep ruby red, with flakes with yellow and orange., that glowed a bright flaming red in the dark, showing his perfect vision in the dark, or the scent of sulfur that seemed to point out the felines, Fiendish heritage, mixed in the "Mutt" of a creature. No, It was the way he walked, like a Wolf in Sheeps Clothing, a cruelty held just barely in check behind the erratic gaze, flicking left and right. Waiting for something to wrong him, to warrant unleashing it. To those familar with the metophoric scent, Murder seemed to hang in the air around this feline.
Player:	Mischief_Maker
Gender (Visually):	Male
Race (Visually):	Elf