Bori is a copper-scaled dragonborn with a broad, blunt muzzle and a lower jaw that sits slightly forward. His small, closely packed teeth show when he laughs, and he chews noisily as if every meal deserves his full attention. He keeps his horns and scales carefully groomed, polishing the ridges around his jaw with a scrap of linen. A neat braid of cord around one horn holds a tiny wooden whistle.

Patient with frightened people and impatient with waste, Bori is more observant than his blunt manner suggests. He likes practical jokes, especially ones that make a pompous person laugh at themself, and dislikes being treated as a weapon.

Bori grew up among the scattered dragonborn families who guided caravans across a dry, broken upland. His mother, Yara, taught him to read the ground by its grit and smell, while his aunt, Nemi, showed him how to keep a cooking fire alive in bad wind. Bori was never much good at maps or numbers, but he could shoulder a stuck wagon out of a rut and keep walking after everyone else had stopped. His copper breath was more useful for warning off hungry beasts than for winning admiration, which suited him fine. When a sudden flood cut the trail and scattered a caravan, Bori held a narrow crossing long enough for the others to get clear. He was frightened, furious at the rising water, and surprised to find that anger made his body feel almost impossible to move. Since then, he has taken work as a guide and caravan guard, not to chase danger but to make sure other people have a way through it. He carries a little whistle from Nemi and means to return it only when he has found a road worth bringing home.