His body has been claimed by Mother Nature. He is Earthborn and seems to embody the very species well. His legs are long and powerful, standing like stilts that lead up to a compact, lean body. He hones his body as much as possible, wasting no time in establishing peak physical condition. His shoulders are broad and his chest wide and sloping down to somewhat narrow hips. His neck is thick and has to be in order to support his head and balance what grew upon it. His tail is normal and balanced, his fur thick and smooth and untouched by any markings of any kind. He lacks ears and it is a mystery to some how he hears anything. He listens through nature, tuning in to the ground and trees and winds. Voices come out distorted because of this, but it is something he is used to and has adapted to.

He stands at six feet tall, a stoic and imposing giant. His head remains poised and his eyes hardened and his features blank. Let's start with his eyes. His eyes seem to be born of fire, holding the entire spectrum of colors a flame could produce. They shimmer and glow, seeming to dance with embers no matter in what light they may be cast in. Atop his skull, growing from the sides and around his crown thick, tough bark has sprouted upwards. It curves outward, sloping back and up in a large, wide set of antler-like formations. It overlaps in parts, winding around one another and coming to sharp points. Between them, curving back and slanted slightly is a crown-like structure that comes to varying points and is a darker gray than the other bark. They are in general varying in shades of gray but are darker than the rest of his body. The interesting part is the gold that intertwines in the wood. Towards the edges and cutting in deep are rivulets of pure gold, glowing faintly and cold to the touch. His base pelt is a smoky gray, flashing like metal when he moves.

His body is dominantly fur like any other wolf. Draped across his shoulders and trickling down his sides, however, are more edges of gold. It falls down like a web of lava through rock, stretching down his sides and spine on both sides. This, too, is cold to the touch and made of the gold metal itself. None dare try and chip it away for their own devices. These, however, are not the only features nature has claimed. His front paws are not paws at all. Gnarled claws dig deep, jutting upwards and sloping down to fine, wicked points. These, too, are made of the same material as his headdress. Gold flecks shine from these as well, and these are far more flexible and vicious. His dewclaws are equally longer and more vicious in this respect.

A fighter, never a lover. He is fierce and brutal in his mindset. His actions are meant to only have one outcome: dominance. Not dominance in the natural sense of the term, perhaps. Not in the sense of ruling over others or claiming things for his own. Dominance in the sense of destruction. He is a born weapon and there is nothing more to it. He is not prone to emotions. He also has no sympathy or empathy towards others unless it would suit him in achieving his goal. In this respect he is not a user. He does not set out to manipulate others or control them. In fact, he wouldn't even know how to even go about doing that. If it is an obstacle that stands in his way he will overcome it if it is necessary. It is all about cause and effect with him. He is loyal to those who deserve it and believes in those that believe in him.

Though he is not entirely emotionless. He refuses to let them stand in his way as much as possible but he is not immune to them. Through his interactions with a few other wolves he has adopted the ability to feel certain emotions such as loss, appreciation, respect, and admiration. To name a few. He is not at all experienced in expressing these, however, and finds it quite difficult and not worth the effort in most cases. He is a man of little words as well, finding that silence can speak louder than any long string of phrases and words. He speaks when he is spoken to, for the most part, and tends to be a good listener for it. His intelligence is not elite but he knows the difference between right and wrong and knows better on a lot of subjects. Wisdom and knowledge are not in the forefront of his ambitions but of course he will never turn it down. Knowledge can be power as much as power itself is. He works on his own agenda and as far as love is concerned he knows nothing of it. He has never experienced these feelings and never had the desire to. He learned nothing of it. The closest thing he felt to love was on the battlefield when he saw his parents fall. That was also when he experienced his first bout of loss. He is honorable in his ways and lives up to a reputation. First impressions last with him, as he believes in forwardness and not wasting time. He is a force to be reckoned with in battle, or at least was once, and hopes to achieve this once more.

Perhaps a straight and narrow type of history. On the outer edges of Adymeria a pack of warriors and hot-headed fighters roamed freely. They worshiped Sol and everything that came with it, drinking in His fires and bathing in the warmth of His rays. Ophion was born to a common warrior and his mate. There was no discrimination in genders and the women fought as hard and fiercely as the men and were expected of it. The leader of this pack, Adris, stood alone as a widowed man with no children to take his place. His lineage stopped when he was dead and he knew it and did not even care. All he cared about was gearing up his followers for an oncoming battle. In light of this, Ophion's father set to work on him immediately. He had no other worth other than to be a weapon. He was trained steadily since he was old enough to walk. Adris had done well in manipulating his pack's minds and from day one it was only a recipe for disaster.

Adris' littermate was leading an opposing pack. A typical sibling feud that is so common in many families. It was these two, however, that tossed their issues unto others and forced them to carry the weight. They projected their pissing contest onto other families and loners that joined their packs for only one purpose: to fight. Ophion never questioned anything and was taught to never speak unless spoken to. He never had a doubt against his parents and they lacked the gentle, nurturing touch that a sire and dame would have for their child. He was a hardened warrior barely out of his puphood. He knew so little and yet knew that he must fight and defend the pack he grew up in. They all bonded through this notion, each of them helping each other in any way possible. There was a sense of camaraderie between the wolves that could not be found elsewhere. Ophion was an Earthborn, much like his mother and father. His mother was that of the air while his father adopted fire. Ophion, on the other hand, took on the earth. Or rather, the earth took him. It was a cut and dry childhood at this point. He trained, he sparred, he learned some magic here and there. Above all he was told to focus on the physical aspect of battle. He was a hammer and nothing more and did not care either way. He was raised in this lifestyle and thus knew nothing else. He did not care to know, either, learning early on that his place was in the pack, defending them and Adris at all costs.

It was a constant back and forth between these small and seemingly insignificant groups of wolves. Day in and day out there would be some sort of spat. Wolves would be lost and others would take their place. Ophion battled a few times, going through the motions and rather lacking in emotions while doing it. He was an empty shell in this regard. It was when he was around six years old that he expressed emotions of any kind. It was the biggest battle as of late between the two packs. It seemed to be the one that would determine the fate of one of the packs and indeed it was. Ophion was in the midst of battle when he saw his mother fall. He hesitated and was nearly knocked over in the process. His father broke his attention and ran to her side, trying to strike away those that were around her. It seemed that the battle was lost on him as he hovered over her dying body. Ophion tried to get to them, to try and at least protect his father but he could not reach him in time. Though he fought to the end his father fell as well. Ophion was not sure what to feel at this moment in time. Something within him reached out for the two who spawned him. Something that was stowed away and made dormant. It rose within him and along with it the anger that accompanied it. He fought harder than ever and it seemed that all hope was lost for his pack. One by one they were all falling and there was nothing that Ophion could do about it. He felt like a failure, and so in a last ditch effort to live up to the name of the pack he tried to seek out Adris. If there was one thing he would die trying to do it would be protecting him.

He fought his way to him, others trying to do the same. Either they were kept at bay or failed to make it through. Some did, though, and fell into position with Ophion. They all tried ushering Adris away from the battle and into safety but in his rage and ego he refused, trying to find his brother in the fray. The two clashed and it was not Ophion's fight to fight. So he left them to their own devices, feeling the weariness in his bones and the blood and dirt upon his body. Adris and his brother fought to the death and Adris did not come out on top. Enraged the pack tried to get their revenge then and there but the rivals withdrew, knowing they had accomplished what they really were there for. Ophion's pack disbanded without second warning, knowing very well what would become of it if they stayed together. There were no good-byes and no words exchanged, though there was a mutual understanding between everyone. Ophion departed from them, not quite sure where he was going or what he was to do anymore. So he wandered aimlessly, grown into his own and simply exploring and trying to keep his wits about him and his skills sharpened. He was out of commission for a long time after that battle, though. For four years after then, when he turned ten, he knew he lost his touch. So he ventured out again, trying to shape himself into what he was back then. He was out of step and out of tune with it and he knew this but he tried nevertheless. He had no interest in consorting with others nor trying to settle down with a mate. In fact, the thought never had crossed his mind. Not many thoughts did. He sought revelation in the Highlands, trying to consult Sol and his followers. Then he set out, traveling far over Adymeria, trying to find his purpose in it all. Four years passed, and perhaps he has found it after such a long time.