He bears the appearance of a soul cast down from the heavens, heavily weathered by the annals of time—Inarius may at first appear to be not much more than means the eye. Cloaked in shades of heavy ash, his coat is long and flowing, endlessly tousled and almost to unnatural to be that belonging to a wolf. This is furthered by the unusual coloration of his eyes, a deep garnet that almost appear crimson under certain light. With limbs that appear to have been dipped in graphite and ink, there is little question as to how he earned the title of “blackhanded”.
Erring on the upper side of average in his overall size, there is little debate that Inarius appears to be in the prime of his life. Appearing light on his feet, he is built like a long distance runner that is very capable of holding his own; he is very much the model of a wolfish soldier and scout as though he was created for the very role naturally. He carries himself very much in the same way, rarely at ease. While the wilderness clings to him along with all manner of scents, it is not uncommon for him to bare reminiscent tones of sage, myrrh, and spices, reminiscent of the halls of old.
A disciplined sort, the upholder of moral standards and a deep loyalist and defender of the meek and mild and innocent. Guided by a moral compass erring on the side of the justice he was raised with, Inarius thinks with his head long before his heart… or at least for the most part. He is a respectful creature to all that falls within his code of ethics, though unwilling to follow that which deviate from such.