There was a reason he was called Crooked Kane.

One could easily assume it was a jest on the length of his actual name. Kaneenawup. The One Who is Sitting Like an Eagle. Many white-devil tongues have butchered the name to nothing more then a bloody mess of syllables.

Kane's nose, strigine as any beak, has a sharp curve that favored the left side of his face. The curve continues down back the other way to form a slight crescent from the bridge of the nose to his chin. With his lengthy neck favoring the right shoulder, his head gives the impression of a perching bird of prey, peering out from eyes the color of cliffside. And just as hard.

His body was formed like piano fingers: long, lithe, and nimble. Crafted from colors of smoke and sepia, evidence of both Native and African descent, Kane moves with a smooth gait. Thick locs reach past his shoulder, braided in plaits, and many of them are adored with symbols of heritage and holiness. Something about his aura is off-putting, a little strange. Not quite on the straight and narrow.

A little crooked.