Frost stands as a tall and imposing dragonborn with scales the color of polished winter silver. He wears remnants of fine noble attire, a shredded silk cloak and velvet pants, held together by sturdy leather straps and barbarian harnesses. His eyes are a piercing, frozen blue. Despite his savage lifestyle, his posture remains aristocratic, and his scales are meticulously clean.

Frost is a strange mix of high-born arrogance and raw, primal ferocity. He speaks with an educated, resonant voice even when threatening to cleave an enemy in half. He values etiquette and is easily offended by a lack of proper respect, yet he finds the structured life of a city stifling compared to the honesty of the frozen wilds.

Born into the prestigious Daardendrian house, Frost was expected to be a diplomat or a tactician. However, the icy blood of his ancestors manifested as a violent, unyielding rage that he could not control within the polished halls of his family estate. During a high-stakes trade negotiation, a minor insult from a rival noble caused Frost to enter a frenzy, resulting in the destruction of a priceless crystal pavilion and the temporary hospitalization of a duke. To avoid a political catastrophe, his father formally exiled him. Now, Frost wanders the world as a mercenary and adventurer, carrying his family signet ring as a reminder of what he lost. He seeks to prove that his rage is not a curse, but a weapon that can bring more honor to his name than a thousand empty speeches ever could. Though he lives as a nomad, he still views the world through the lens of a lord, treating every battle as a formal duel and every quest as a test of his inherent superiority.