Send a wolf...
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...not fame...
Timmond managed to tame his wild, dark mane into a thick, single braid. Something he did on occasion. Time had been kinder to him than it had many. However, that was only due to his curse. Eyes were tired and sad, a pale golden green peered out at the world. The crinkle around them and his mouth put him to about forty or so years, but he was much older than that. Scars marred his shoulders and chest here and there, a few down his abdomen, leaving bare spots through the thick pelt that ran from his collar bones to well below his navel.
He was a tall man, standing well close to six and a half feet. His large frame was laden with heavy muscle. Shoulders were wide and strong. His jaw was set firm and almost stubbornly. There was something that was rugged, though not quite handsome about the man. He wasn't quite attractive, rather, he had an air of charisma. His presence commanded attention and respect. Here walked a man that had fought many battles, waged many wars. Here was a man that was strong, someone that would give their life to protect those under his governance. Here was a man that was just and fair and good. But, he was a hard man, one that was not easily known.
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