A lean male aarakocra with storm-gray feathers, white-tipped wing feathers, and sharp amber eyes. He wears fitted scale mail over travel-worn leathers, a soldier's satchel, and a longbow kept meticulously clean. A faded blue cord is tied around one talon, the last gift from home. His posture is rigid and alert, like a sentry perpetually scanning the horizon.

Ace is disciplined, watchful, and formal, even when he is trying to be friendly. He respects competence, keeps his word without fail, and measures strangers by whether they can be relied upon in danger. Though proud of his wings and heritage, he is curious about the ground folk and determined to learn their customs if it helps him survive long enough to avenge his home.

Ace was hatched in a cliffside nest village where every wingbeat had a purpose and every youngster learned to scout before they learned to boast. He grew into a disciplined hunter and sentry, prized for his steady aim and a soldier's habit of keeping formation even while airborne. Among the ground folk he later met, his name was shortened to "Ace" after one too many impossible shots split an arrow at distance, a nickname he wears with equal parts pride and awkwardness. That pride was nearly shattered when a dragon came screaming out of the clouds and fire took his home. The attack scattered his kin, burned the nests, and left only fragments of the old roost behind. Ace survived because training made him stubborn and because his wings carried him where the dragon's claws could not reach. Now he walks the ground by choice, not by comfort, following rumors, ash, and old battlefield reports for one answer only, where the dragon lairs, so he can one day return with allies and justice for what was stolen.