A broad-shouldered male dragonborn with dark bronze scales, a blunt, weathered snout, and chipped ivory horns. His eyes are a deep copper-gold, and a pale line of old scarring runs from his left brow to the edge of his jaw. He wears patched leather armor beneath a moss-green wool cloak, with bundles of dried plants, parchment, and small bone charms tied to his belt. His hands are callused from fieldwork and staff fighting, and his scales are stained with soil around the claws.

Miran is patient with frightened animals, sick people, and honest mistakes. He is blunt with officials, suspicious of grand claims, and quietly pleased whenever a practical solution succeeds. Though reserved in crowds, he becomes intensely talkative when discussing marsh ecology, old manuscripts, or the habits of intelligent fungi.

Miran Vesh was raised in a dragonborn farming settlement built along the edge of a dying marsh. His family worked the reed beds, but Miran spent more time listening to the old women name plants, watching birds choose safe nesting ground, and copying weather records from the settlement ledger. When a wasting sickness struck the marsh, he traveled to a distant college to find an explanation. The scholars there gave him books, ink, and a narrow room, but they dismissed the marsh as an unimportant provincial problem. Miran learned enough to return with remedies, though not before losing his younger brother and several neighbors. He now travels as both caretaker and investigator. His druidic training came from an isolated circle that believed written knowledge and living knowledge should never be separated. Miran records every unusual plant, migration, scar, and spirit-sign he encounters, hoping to understand the forces that damaged his home. He is not a romantic guardian of wilderness. He knows that people need roads, fires, crops, and medicine. His purpose is to make those things coexist, even when both villagers and druids insist that compromise is a kind of betrayal.