Kriv stands nearly seven feet tall, with gleaming gold scales that look like burnished brass. He wears well-maintained chain mail with a tabard bearing a faded lion crest. He has deep, amber-colored eyes and two thick, swept-back horns that accentuate his stern, square jaw. A faint scent of ozone and warm smoke often clings to his skin.

I speak with the directness of a military officer and rarely use more words than necessary. I am extremely polite to civilians but demand strict adherence to protocol from those I consider comrades. I find it difficult to relax, as I am always assessing the nearest exits and potential tactical threats in any room.

Kriv was born into a tradition of service within the prestigious Iron Claw Legion. For nearly a decade, he rose through the ranks, eventually becoming a Sergeant noted for his tactical brilliance and unwavering discipline. His career came to a crashing halt during a border dispute when his superior ordered him to burn a granary used by peasant rebels. Knowing the families in the area would starve, Kriv refused, stood his ground, and safely evacuated the village instead. He was arrested for insubordination soon after. Although his noble reputation spared him from execution, he was stripped of his rank and cast out of his home city in disgrace. He now carries his dented armor and a broken insignia, traveling as a mercenary for hire. He seeks to prove that true loyalty is to people and principles, not merely to the chains of command that fail them.