Avon is a tall, broad-shouldered dragonborn woman with deep bronze scales, darker along her jaw and forearms, and a line of old pale scars crossing her left cheek. Her swept-back horns are capped with small iron rings, and her amber eyes carry the watchful intensity of a veteran scout. She keeps her chain mail meticulously repaired but decorates her shield with mismatched paint marks, each one representing a place where she survived against the odds.

Avon is blunt, observant, and fiercely protective of anyone who earns her trust. She has a dry sense of humor and treats danger like an old drinking companion, greeting it with a skeptical look and a sharp remark. She dislikes grand speeches but remembers small acts of kindness for years.

Avon was hatched beneath the red banners of a border legion, where dragonborn recruits were prized for their courage and feared for the power of their breath. She joined the army before she was old enough to understand the politics behind its wars. In time, she became a shield bearer, then a skirmisher, learning to hold a line with one hand while watching the hills with the other. Her commanders praised her discipline, but her fellow soldiers remembered something else, she never followed an order merely because it was given. During a disastrous campaign, Avon discovered that her unit had been sent into a doomed valley to protect the reputation of a noble officer. She disobeyed orders, led the surviving soldiers through an enemy encirclement, and returned with proof of the officer's betrayal. The army rewarded her with a formal commendation, then quietly dismissed her when she refused to bury the truth. Now Avon travels as a sellsword and adventurer, loyal to individual comrades rather than flags, laws, or causes. She seeks danger partly for coin, partly for freedom, and partly to discover whether the world contains any authority worth obeying.