Vaerix is a broad, weathered dragonborn whose bronze scales have dulled to the color of old pennies, with green patina gathering around his joints and along the ridges of his jaw. His hide is rough in places, polished smooth in others from years of leaning over workbenches. A pale lightning scar cuts across his left cheek and disappears beneath one eye. He moves with the deliberate care of a craftsman carrying a full tray of glass, yet his hands can suddenly snap into motion with startling precision. His tail, short and heavy, drags softly across the floorboards and leaves faint streaks of soot. He smells of rain, singed citrus peel, medicinal alcohol, and warm metal. The contradictory impression he leaves is that of a frail old shopkeeper who could either collapse over his ledger or dismantle a siege engine before anyone finishes blinking.