Thalen Veskari is an aarakocra with storm-gray plumage frosted by pale silver along the wing tips, as if sea spray had permanently kissed him. His feathers are sleek but weathered, combed backward by years of harbor wind, while the quills at his throat are stiffened with salt and tiny fish scales trapped like glitter in the down. He stands tall and upright with an almost ceremonial stillness, then moves in quick, sudden bursts that make him seem half hawk and half market bell. One wing has a careful, ugly patch of black waxed thread where a fisher's hook tore him years ago, an unexpected sign of both injury and pride. He wears the contradiction of a devout protector who still has the rough hands of a trader, his talons nicked, his beak worn smooth at the tip from biting twine and seals. His presence feels brisk, orderly, and faintly maritime, like a chapel built inside a tide warehouse.