For all intents and purposes, Lakhos seems the ordinary coyote despite his mixed heritage. Something is definitely off about him, but it’s hard to say what it is that displays the wolf in him; he is comprised of colors tied closely to dry desert sands and wet rust with a hearty milky splash of white to his undersides, leaving his electrifyingly bright yellow eyes to stand out against his face. A hot shock of that same rust color backs his ears and runs up the top of his snout in a blaze, and he is a bedraggled, poorly looking thing at best most of the time. Notably, his right ear shows definite signs of wear and tear, punctured and tattered along its outside edge.
He still ain’t that adorable.
Currently, and after some time with an actual group that was capable of doing more than Lakhos could actually improved him a bit, making him look a little less like some drowned rat in a puddle. May look slightly charming from a distance but has something weaselly about his expression, and he vaguely smells like motor oil because he probably hasn't had a proper bath after spending weeks out in the desert. Oops.
Like a perpetual teenager, his moods shift at the drop of a hat. It’s not so unpredictable when or where he’s going to change his mind, but boy when he does… it isn’t pretty. Lakhos can be extremely petty and manipulatively as a result; the world seems to hate him, so he hates it right back along with himself.
You’re out to get him, probably. Everyone’s out to get him, probably. In a world full of uncertainties, the one thing he is certain of is that the other shoe is gonna drop at any given time and he best be ready for it. He doesn’t trust anyone in particular except for maybe his own kind and even then it’s a shaky card house prone to collapse with the next shift in the wind.
Tied in with his perpetual moodiness and paranoia, Lakhos isn’t above being vengeful and spiteful. He’ll cut you and cut his own nose off to spite his face, for better or worse. Used to having to protect and fend for himself with no means of aid, he’s learned whatever he can to get ahead without actually realizing that he’s learned anything.
The son of Ragvelon and Gehenna, Lakhos only really knows and recalls his littermates—his brothers Dormin and Rakdos; sisters Isperia and Tislek—but is actually one of about twelve of his parent's surviving children. Who actually knows how many there are, because Lakhos sure as hell doesn't have any idea. There's probably more of them at this point honestly.
· July 2019 — May 2020
Lakhos' natal pack, so to speak. In reality it wasn't actually much of a pack but a loose, nomadic group that kept its range within a dry valley basin. He learned his life basics here, like how to dig out of a rusty trash can and not get shanked in alleyways. Eventually he just wandered off without a word and went for an adventure and apparently did not die.
· March 2021 — August 2021
Kincaid tried to smother him as apart of his acceptance into this group, which Lakhos still will insist that they rolled up into his home because he was there first. He bebopped around until it reached its own dissolution and it was back into the wilderness he went, only like a creeper stalker following after those he had some sort of collection with. And not that kind of collection, if you catch his drift.