Originally a remarkably pure-bred Silver Fang, Oliver made it as far as Adren — and nearly to Athro — before things unexpectedly went rather pear-shaped. Mid-2017 found him Cliath again, having renounced his birth-tribe and been accepted as a Shadow Lord instead... and flung across the pond to investigate a strange Californian Sept and a particular member thereof. The latter proved much more congenial than the former, and they ended up moving on together, ending up that fall in Detroit.
'Tall, light, and handsome' isn't quite the usual phrase, but it's accurate enough. A touch over six foot, lean but muscled, with short platinum blond hair, cynical cerulean eyes, a square jaw, and -- most strikingly -- cheekbones one could probably use to cut glass. His eyebrows are a few shades darker than his hair, and there's a break near the outer edge of the left one, where a pale scar crosses it. He looks to be perhaps thirty, and carries himself with an air of assurance, not to say arrogance. It would be easy to believe that he has always known his place, and his place has always been at the top. To those familiar with the accents of the UK, his public-school tones suggest the same.
He dresses simply but well, and generally in dark colours; often entirely in black, though another joins it many days. Not given to obvious labels; the fabric, fit, and finish of his clothes bespeak quality on their own. Accessories are sparing -- now and then a necklace, or a watch.
Around seven feet tall and apparently made entirely of bulky muscle, every sinew thrumming with barely suppressed energy. There's a striking intensity to his narrow blue eyes, the colour complementing his fair skin and unruly mass of platinum hair, but the prominent brows and neanderthal-like features tend to overshadow other aspects of his appearance. He definitely needs a shave... not only on his jaw, but just about everywhere skin can be seen. His teeth and nails seem oddly sharp, and when he speaks, it's in a disconcerting gutteral rasp.
He's dressed simply but well, probably in dark colours, and without much in the way of accessories.
One could be forgiven for thinking of a yeti: while this creature is no snowman, it's certainly abominable. Over nine foot worth of pure white fur, solid muscle, and massive, glinting teeth and claws would be enough to convince most it was time to be elsewhere, even if the screams of their distant ancestors weren't ringing at the base of their brains. And in the majority of cases, they are.
That's one hell of a big white wolf. And check out those TEETH! It's like a freakin' saber-tooth wolf! Looks mean, too. Wouldn't want to be bitten by that thing... those jaws looks like they've got some major power, not to mention those fangs. It's extremely well-muscled, and every one of those huge muscles looks tense, wound up ready to pounce. Its eyes glint with intelligence, and probably malice. It doesn't look like it's waiting for someone to throw it a stick.
Yon creature has a lean and hungry look -- and a glint in the pale grey eye that suggests thinking too much, to boot. Such beasts are dangerous. The wolf's fur is entirely white, tip to tail, throwing those eyes and the black pad of his nose into stark relief. Aerodynamically built, more for speed than strength, though that doesn't seem overly lacking; the overall effect is a fairly elegant-looking animal.
|May 11, 2017||It seemed worth a look.||Oliver meets Sandra, and gets a certain amount of introduction to the place.|
|November 04, 2017||Mission: Just Plausible||Beware of Ragabash bearing simple deals.|