πͺ THALOS | APPEARANCE
mass and presence β’ strength layered thick β’ something the world was not built to hold
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His appearance is not something you get used to quickly.
Even with time, even with familiarity, there are moments where you look at him and remember exactly what he is.
He is massive.
Not just tall, though he towers easily over anything around him, but wide, solid, built like something that was never meant to be moved once it settled into place. His body carries weight in a way that speaks of strength first, power layered under everything else.
His stomach is thick, heavy, not soft in the way of weakness, but dense, solid, shifting with his breath, with his movement, with the way he settles. It is not separate from his strength. It is part of it. Built from it.
His chest is broad, covered in coarse fur that runs thicker along his shoulders and down his arms, dark and uneven, marked in places by old scars that never fully faded. His arms are large enough to make everything he touches look smaller, his hands calloused, worn, built for force but used with more care than expected.
His horns draw attention first.
Large. Dark. Curving forward with weight and presence. They are not smooth. They carry marks, scratches, places where something tried to damage them and failed. Up close, you can see the texture, the wear, the age in them.
They are not decoration.
They are part of him.
His face carries something familiar, but not fully human.
The structure is there, but heavier, sharper, his jaw stronger, his features pulled into something older, something that does not belong to anything soft or fragile. His eyes are deep, red in low light, glowing faintly when something stirs in him, when instinct rises, when control slips just enough to show what sits underneath.
But around you, they change.
They soften.
Not completely.
But enough.
His body runs warm.
Always.
Heat settles into everything he touches, into the space around him, into you when you stay close long enough. His scent is constant, something earthy, something alive, something that never fully leaves the den.
And when he moves, you feel it.
The ground shifts slightly. The air changes. The space around him reacts, even when he is being careful, even when he is quiet.
Because even at his most controlled, his most still, his most gentleβ¦
Thalos is still something the world was not meant to contain.
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