Tharax moves like liquid iron: deliberate, heavy-footed when he wishes to intimidate, and surprisingly light when studying delicate glyphs. His scales have a burnished pewter sheen that catches torchlight and hides faint, hairline runic scars along his jaw and throat. He wears a half-cloak of library gray embroidered with the Conservatory's sigil; beneath it his student robes are practical and patched at the elbows. When thinking he traces the underside of his left forearm with a fingertip, following a faded tattoo of a coiled comet. Unexpectedly, one of his canines is capped with a sliver of polished moonstone — an ostentatious flourish that seems at odds with his otherwise utilitarian bearing.