Orion.

Name: Orion
Gender: Female
Nicknames: O
Race: Anthropomorphic wolf
Alignment: As true neutral as they come. Does pretty much whatever suits her at the time to a reasonable extent, isn't inherently good or bad.
Age: Twenty five or so...maybe? That's going off physical appearance alone. She doesn't usually respond to questions on the topic.
Size: Wee bit on the tall size.
Body Type: Curvy
Height: 6'0
Weight: 176 Pounds
Complexion: Pale
Eyes: Features a pair of rather interesting eyes, a deep amber color with a set of vertical slits for pupils.
Handedness: Seems to prefer her left hand most of the time.
Likes: Alchohol, a very unhealthy amount of alcohol. The wolf seems to have an appreciation for antiquated marching songs along with the night sky. For some reason....?
Dislikes: Anyone being overly nosy or possessing the inability to take a hint. More interestingly the wolf seems to be extremely uncomfortable in large wide-open fields or similar locations.
Scars: Rumored to have horrifying scars covering her arms. Though they're always covered by some kind of heavy latex or rubber gloves going up past her elbows.
Relationship Status: Seems to be perpetually single, widowed possibly?

Orion...whatever her last name is, if she even has one...? Well what kind of person she is, that's up to interpretation. Her personality, what little of one she seems to have is rather quiet if not aloof. The wolf doesn't exactly make a habit of engaging with people, that's not to say she'll outright ignore anyone that approaches her. But usually she seems happiest sitting along watching something unfold. In her specific case that usually means sitting at the end of a bar, glass of something dark and strong in hand. Watching whatever chaos seems to unfold that night. If she's pulled into a conversation one way or another Orion will be conversational, if not a tad cold most of the time.

But if my some miracle someone gets close to her, she genuinely trusts them? Then her true colors come to light. Those being...well mostly exhaustion. The canine sounds like she's in a perpetual state of just having gone twenty rounds with Mike Tyson, then being expected to run forty miles. That and an immense amount of stress, as if the weight of the world was resting on her shoulders. Her real fondness lies with sharing a drink with comrades, if not sparring oddly enough? as it would turn out she's quite competent with swordplay. It seems to be a way to relieve stress or frustration. Though asking her what on earth gives her an endless supply of frustration bordering on outright hatred is hard in the same sense attempting to break cinder blocks with a bowl of jello is hard. Though one thing remains common no matter if she's just met someone or known them for years. She almost never says anything about herself. Nothing important at least, just the occasional random fact if she's feeling talkative. One example being some extremely obscure condition that leads to a near immunity to alcohol. This can be easily proven by her ability to drink people twice her size under the table, or down entire bottles of scotch without so much as acting buzzed. It seems the only way to actually get her drunk is incredibly strong conventional alcohol. The likes of Everclear or at the very least an incredibly strong Vodka. Or the easier answer, what for most is literal poison. Methanol.

Though this is a mere example, the kind of information a person is likely to get. Nothing pertaining to who she really is, where she's from. Why she's sporting an incredibly thick pair of latex gloves that go up to almost her shoulders. Which by the way she has never been seen without. Not sleeping, not bathing, nothing. She never takes them off, almost never touches them directly. And will usually be extremely displeased should any attempts at removing them be made. Though in the rare case that they are disturbed without her immediately rectifying it, some charred black fur can be seen at the very edge of the gloves. Implying she may simply have some serious burns and either due to shame or some kind of medical condition will not remove the gloves.

The general gist of this odd woman is that she's not an easy person to get along with, though if you do. She'll be a rather strong friend, not to a point faultless kindness. She won't hesitate to call people out on ridiculous behavior or give them a hard slap across the back of the head should it be deserved. A conventional hardass that seems to have a nearly religious motivation not to let anyone close to her. Keeping everyone at a nice safe distance. Like she's terrified of anyone really getting to know her. Though everything she does seems to carry an almost regal air, her voice, manner of speaking. The simple way she performs everyday actions, always elegant and fluid. Almost like one would expect of a monarch from bygone days. Possibly a hint at a rather high-class upbringing? Or maybe she's just a bitch and considered herself holier than thou? Hard to say, though she doesn't verbally express it, if it's the latter.