An Ipi, or long-tailed pangolin, and a pretty one at that-- no, no. Child shall not refer to himself as pretty. An average specimen. He’s large, a little over four feet in length, nearly three-fourths of which is simply a prehensile, whip-like tail. His proportions resemble a heavily-distorted primate: limbs too short, body too long, finger’s uncannily ape-like yet tipped with dangerously long talons. Movement is bipedal, extremely hunched over with clawed hands held close to his chest, but he switches seamlessly to four-legged when fighting or climbing. There is a strange air about him.

Scales like polished chips of bone cloak Child's shambling form. They’re uneven and ill-fitting in his early cycles, but don’t let that deceive you: it’s one of the thickest coats of armor nature can conceive. When danger strikes he can curl into a sturdy ball for defence, or lash out with his serrated tail and draw blood. Each scale is monochrome, a deep mid-gray with a darker base and light tips. His underbelly’s an ashy coal covered in sparse, wiry hairs. He seems devoid of color, more reminiscent of a pencil sketch than a real animal.

Where one might expect a long pangolin face is hidden from view forever. Instead, a thin sheet of white, domed Thomsonite grows out of his very skin and incases it in a mask. Two jagged, seemingly bottomless slits hang over the eyes, turned upwards like a cartoony smile. What’s behind them is pitch black. If one were to shine a light into his eyes, they might catch a glimpse of empty silver irises and jet skin, which otherwise blends perfectly into deep shadows. There are no nose holes, but thankfully enough space underneath to breathe. Intense activity, heat, or cold will likely lead to breathing troubles-- he tries to hide this as best he can.

In its natural state, this Thomsonite would have had a winning display of Cat’s Eye-- a bright band of light going down the gemstone. However, given it’s lack of a perfect shape-- or polish-- it is distorted. Weak. It flickers in and out of view, often incredibly faint, completely gone in certain lights or angles, the only consistent trait being that it always looks at the viewer. An imperfection.

For his early months Child is, well, childlike. He comes just around a foot long and a little runty, his scales pale and soft. The mask is oversized and heavy, causing him to wobble when he walks. Frequent breaks are needed for long journeys.

Born from oblivion, given a short span of life before the void eventually claims him once more. For a fledgeling, Child is... empty. Perfect. A mold of clay ready to be shaped into whatever the artist desires.

But, ah, that's not the only thing to him. He still is a child, after all. And past the blank, uncomprehending stares he gives there is a semblance of identity. A slight, innocent curiosity, a faint wonder about the world beyond. He is not rambunctious, but shy and reserved around others. Speaking is not Child's strong suit, so most of the time he prefers to stay quiet. Bring in his lack of body language or, well, a face, and emotions are near impossible to read off this creature.

There is one person where these traits are reversed: namely, his leader. Boss, guardian, paragon, whatever. The bottom line is, once a gembound has earned his trust, he reveres them like a god. The pangolin can be annoyingly clingy at times, but his loyalty is unwavering and he'd to anything for them. Especially if it results in personal validation. Some perversion of imprinting instinct, or a deeper insecurity buried in his soul-- nobody will ever know.

Morals are a foreign idea to him. When alone he does what he pleases, and with his leader he follows their exact orders to a T. Nothing more.

Child's movements are stilted, almost natural at first glance but with a strange, mechanical nature behind them. Likewise, his voice is off, speaking like some poor imitation of fluidity but unnervingly monotonous all the same. What a strange little one.