Draped in a thick film of jet black fleece. Greatly distinct from the base, pale, silver streaks run along the chest, along the nape, and directly across the shoulder blades.

Silvery-grey eyes compliment the sparse strands, glittering their brightest when beneath direct light. They are a menace in of themselves, cruel and calculating. Although silent, they are what speak up for the one who physically cannot. Within every word, there is bitterness and disdain, sharply spoken without missing a single beat of the drum.

Like the men of generations before him, size has never lacked.

In awe is any that cross the path of his wake. Massive paws hold above them a weight impossible for any other to bear.

Height comes as an advantage to intimidate, but never in speed nor camouflage. It is the muscle that tends to most needs in forms of combat; as do the teeth and claws. Hideous things, stained by timeless blood and flesh.

As of recent time, he carries many still healing wounds from a battle he barely fled with his life. He now has a frontal limp, and it is still unknown if it will ever heal properly.