Bruv is a broad-shouldered brass dragonborn with burnished golden scales, darker bronze scales along the neck and forearms, and deep amber eyes. He wears a weather-stained hide vest beneath a patched traveling cloak, both repaired with mismatched cord and bright red thread. His greataxe is meticulously oiled and wrapped when not in use, while everything else about him looks borrowed, weathered, or one size too large. Before speaking, he draws a slow breath through his nostrils, producing a faint rasp like air moving through a kiln. A necklace of polished animal teeth and bits of colored glass hangs over his chest, each piece marking a place where he survived the wild.

Bruv is direct, watchful, and unexpectedly considerate. He speaks little in crowded settlements, but becomes animated when discussing trails, storms, animals, or unusual cooking methods. He has a dry sense of humor and enjoys asking city dwellers what they would do if their roof vanished, their water froze, or their dinner tried to bite them. He is protective of travelers, children, and anyone who offers food without asking for obedience in return.

Bruv was hatched among a scattered dragonborn caravan that traveled between highland valleys, trading salt, cured meat, and hammered brass. His people taught him that the wilderness was not empty, it was a speaking thing, full of warnings for those patient enough to listen. He learned to track by broken stems, judge weather by the taste of the wind, and carry a camp through rain without wasting a word. His brass ancestry made him naturally curious, but his curiosity was always practical. He wanted to know what lay beyond the ridge, whether the river was safe, and which caves had enough room for a sleeping body.