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The beast this creature was and is takes the form of Man on a whim. Yvor is the name it calls itself. The physical is the easiest to understand, so we will begin there.
It stands at twenty-two and a half hands, easily. If one must guess, the creature weighs between twenty and twenty-five stone. Let us begin from the top, mm? The face is sexless, being not completely human. A heavy jaw and a full, curling mouth weigh beneath a slitted nose that is pierced with a sturdy ring, the bridge of which curves out of the sloping profile. The bow of the mouth is heavy, yet soft, and rather androgynous, constantly set in a pleased smirk or an unaffected frown. The sculpt of the face is strong and austere, high cheekbones and a wide brow perhaps hinting at what would be smallish, slanted eyes. But the mechanism of the being's sight is unseen, for there is a shield over the eyes- an ornate plate of molded iron, the ornate design, an abstract image of shut lashes surrounded by whorls, somewhat faded by patina. The metal is curved around to meet the being's temples, and the ends disappear into the wild black mess of hair that spills and twists in a thick mass around the shoulders, and to the small of the back. Atop this heavy head, a pair of chyral horns, angling together at the apex, and curving back down and away, to end somewhere beneath hidden, small, pointed ears.
The body is wide and massive, an excess of rounded, rolling muscle beneath charcoal skin. The breadth of the shoulders is surpassed only by the span of wide, child-bearing hips. Firm pectorals give way to the round, dual swell of breasts, pushed up and held by a demi-bodice. The thing is sculpted black metal lined with velvet, and starts just at where the navel would be, if there was one to be seen. Carven lines in the breastplate follow the lines of muscle that would be beneath, with a curling flourish, and the beveled edge stops just atop the nipples, no further. The stomach is a thick cobbling of muscle, the waist seeming small only in comparison to the broader dimensions of the frame. The limbs are heavy and threateningly so, yet there is a strange lack of violence here. The muscle of the shoulders rolls in to bulky biceps and through a thick elbow, to cord and twist at the forearms, a thick wrist, and large hands, tipped in short and pointed matte black nails. The thighs are easily the largest thing present, the smooth, wide curves of muscle springing upwards to a tight, rounded rear with a dip, not a crease, for there is just far too much muscle for that. The size and strength of the glutes exaggerate the dip of the spine. The legs on a whole seem almost short for how thick and shapely they are, and the feet have four pointed toes, the ambulation is digitigrade. Above the stout rear, a rather truncated tail that passes no further than mid thigh, and branches once, middway down. All in all, one would say Yvor is of a female gender.
At the wrists, ankles and neck, there is an aged torque; heavy circlets of worn iron that have ..some sort of purpose. Yvor normally keeps a small pearlescent orb tucked beneath her breasts, and wears a heavy, clanking belt, through which a dark red sling of rough-hewn cloth is pulled, fluttering heavily over the front and back of her thighs as she moves with a slow, controlled amble. Garnet fabric is capped on each hem with a jagged, pyramidal silver edge, which gives it weight. The cloth pulls between those two globes in back, and her steps often leave the flaps swinging somewhat, revealing the way the cloth pulls between those two globes in back, and strains over a bulge in front. Yvor is neither kind nor cruel, and finds interest in things in a very impermanent manner. For this, she may be indifferent, but adiaphorous creatures are not actually rude.
When she speaks, Yvor's voice is something dark and rolling, a deep timbre with a silken draw to it that further confuses a mind predicated on the sense of male and female. The tone can be commanding, uninterested, or downright cloying. ...and perhaps a bit surprising, for Yvor is generally seen standing, stock still and ominous, looking for all the world like a living statue. In fact, living is a generous term, for the stillness and dark, stony shades of the creature. Were you to speak to her, there is often little that immediately lets one know she is listening, and thence comes that voice... The muscles ease, the fists uncurl, the shoulders roll and loosen. Yvor often speaks to someone without facing them, since her eyes are blinded, regardless. But still, she sees.
