Xath's biography: This is me, assholes

Character Name: Xath 

(Full name: Xathoytherix, but attempt to pronounce that monstrosity of a name that even he gets wrong sometimes and he’ll bite you, even if you manage to get it right. Especially if you get it right.)

Character Age: 206

(206 is the number he writes down on official documents, and it roughly equates to being in his mid 20’s. It’s suspected he’s a fair bit younger than that, but again, if you try to question it, he’ll get aggressive.)

Character Species: Demon; Imp.

Hair color: Black if you’re looking at his eyebrows. A muddy red shade this side of auburn if you’re looking at the fur on his hooved legs.

Eye color: Muddy red, same colour as his fur.

Xath stumbled into the world in a boring field pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Still shaking the flames from his fur, he immediately began celebrating in very, very broken English, slightly less broken Demonic, and with lots of laughing and cheering to make up the difference; giving the farmers watching nearby quite the scare.

The villagers of that farming town spent a week or so avoiding the demon, spreading tales of things he’d supposedly done to their livestock or children. The day he waltzed into the tavern, in spite of not being welcome in town in the slightest and the looks he was getting from the farmers, only to wave the grubby coins in his hand in the air and shout “Beer!” at the top of his lungs? That did much to soothe their fears.

A few of the older men that had been drinking when the demon barged into the tavern quickly took a fondness to him, especially after learning through struggling monosyllabic explanations and mime that the small imp was young enough to be the age of their sons and daughters. They looked after him, Micah the sheppard opening his empty home to Xath whilst the others taught him whatever they could of writing and reading, which the demon took to with a hunger for understanding, and speech, which he continued to struggle with. Aside from the curse words, which quickly became his favourite method of communication to everyone’s amusement.

In all honesty, past his gruff and casual acceptance of their aid, he couldn't quite remember the last time anyone had offered a hand to help him, or sat and laughed as he learned every fuckin' swear he could wrap his head around with earnest delight. Heaven, he doesn't even know his father's name. Those men gave him more acceptance than he ever could've dreamt of, and he'd be thankful for it til the end of his days.

Xath is an Imp, the smallest of demons, standing at just over a metre tall. 3 and a half feet in other measurements. His rusty red skin, rough black horns that erupt like rock from his hairless skull, and animalistic lower body leave him an intimidating sight even accounting for his shortness, as does his attitude and broken attempts at speaking English. He really couldn’t care less, he’d rather be strange and intimidating than have people coming up to him and cooing about how cute he is just for being short.

Anyway, back to the physical description. His ears are long and pointed, but wide instead of thin, more akin to a goblin’s than an elf’s. Muddy red is the colour of his eyes, but the shape of them is round like most others, even if they reflect light in the dark like an animal. His fingernails are often dirty and jagged, the same black as his horns, but aside from the obviously demonic aspects such as his skin colour, his upper body is fairly humanoid with little deviation from the norm; muscles that he’s let go a bit, belly button and all.

Once you get to his hips, though, his inhumanity becomes a whole lot more obvious. Fur covered legs that wouldn’t look out of place on a Satyr complete the demonic picture, tinted the same reddish brown colour as his eyes. Black cloven hooves take the place of feet too, seemingly the only part of his outward appearance he takes care of, the small ends of his feet perfectly trimmed and shining.

Likely due to how much of a fucking pain it is to deal with a cracked hoof rather than any pride in his looks, though.

Due to the fur, he doesn't tend to wear much more than a loincloth, but he takes care of the thing. It looks raggedy, but it's sturdy and well looked after - a contrast to his immaculate hooves that are more of an annoyance than anything. It was a gift from the men of that farming village who he thinks of as family, so he'll wear it with pride even as others who don't have to deal with the monstrous feeling of attempting to put pants on with fuzzy legs look at him and think he's a savage for wearing so little.

Personality wise, he's a scowling little bastard who has genuine struggles with his birth tongue at times, let alone English. He can read and write well enough to get by, but he struggles to fit words together, they just feel foreign on his tongue. Curses and swears, though? Fuck yeah, those he can manage. He'll communicate with curses and mimes for as long as he can possibly avoid showing off his speech issues, and he's actually gotten rather good at it. It being flipping people off and cackling like a lunatic whenver he finds it funny to do so, that is. He may have a bit of arrogance wrapped up in all those sneers and jibes, but it's tempered by a life spent knowing exactly how low on the totem pole he is, and exactly what he can and can't get away with. Loyalty's there too, a lot deeper hidden and a lot stronger for it. He'll go to the ends of the earth for the ones that gave him a home in this realm, and anyone else that manages to squeeze into his heart.