INTANGIBLE.

old. old old OLD. in the later half of their 2000s. MILF: mummy id like to fuck

i dont want to do a graceless reveal on a bullet list for this, but styg's identity is neutral / plural. they/them, and in identifying themselves, they use "we." this has to do with a foreign essence within them as, in a way, they're a vessel. i intend to clarify this more later when not mobile bound / maybe in plot convos

styg does not need sustenance to live, but freely forages when applicable for a snack from nature. they also like to eat bones. just pure bones from any creature. not elaborating (yet)

they have a horizontal scar at the center of their forehead. self inflicted. the eye (!!) behind that constantly reopened scar is not always present. there is a lot to unpack here

styg's shadow is never adhering to their physical shape. it doesn't make sense. the shadow when you shine light on them does not align with their form, and seems to distort and almost wriggle (like a shadowy mass of ... eels? tentacles?)

as mentioned, a default natural scent of dragon's blood, myrrh, and brimstone notes

I will not sell subpar copper

I will not sell subpar copper

I will not sell subpar copper

I will not sell subpar copper

I will not sell subpar copper

A slow, easy smile. Stygimoloch lowered themselves before the offering, one hand reaching out, pointer and middle fingers pressing into a gash. That hand was withdrawn, coming back bloodied, lifted to slip those fingers between their lips for a taste.

Here, Stygimoloch peered toward the treeline from where they knelt.

They withdrew their fingers from between their lips.