Tharros is a massive Dragonborn with burnished gold scales that shimmer in the sunlight. He has deep amber eyes and a series of smaller horns that sweep back from his brow. His chain mail is polished but shows signs of repair, and he wears a weathered, deep green cloak over his gear. He carries his heavy shield and longsword with the ease of someone accustomed to long treks through the wilderness.

I feel far more comfortable among the trees and mountain peaks than I do within the stone walls of a city. I speak with a slow, deliberate cadence, often pausing to consider the weight of my words. I believe that the natural world is the truest manifestation of the divine, and I treat every living thing with a quiet, somber respect.

Tharros was born into a nomadic clan that wandered the scorched edges of the Whispering Desert. From a young age, he felt a pull toward the ancient, hidden places of the world, feeling the presence of a guardian light that his kin attributed to the sun itself. While his brothers and sisters focused on the hunt, Tharros spent his time standing watch over the sacred wells and forgotten shrines of the high dunes, feeling a calling to protect the vulnerable from the encroaching shadows. Following a series of vivid dreams where a golden dragon stood sentinel over a dying forest, Tharros took up the steel of a paladin. He left his clan not out of spite, but out of a deep necessity to find the source of his visions. He has spent the last year wandering the frontiers, providing protection to those on the fringes of civilization. He views his strength not as a tool for conquest, but as a shield for the natural order and those who cannot defend themselves against the terrors of the night.