Thalzor stands tall and broad-shouldered, his scales a shimmering gradient from deep oceanic teal on his back to pearlescent white on his underbelly. His horns curl back elegantly like wind-smoothed driftwood, yet one horn is jagged, broken halfway—an old injury he never mentions. His movements mimic the sea’s unpredictable rhythm: sometimes fluid and graceful, other times abrupt and sharp, leaving an unsettling impression that he dances with the waves despite never swimming. His muzzle often curls into a half-smile, but his amber eyes flicker with a restless fire. Unexpectedly, he wears a patchwork of sleek leather and brass gauntlets over his forearms that rattle softly with small charms tied to their straps — symbols of both luck and warnings. When he walks the deck, his boots leave no splashes, as if he’s practiced walking on air rather than water.