Towering and coiled in the old way of dragonborn elders; scales are hammered and worn like polished brass yet streaked with verdigris in hairline veins. He moves with the slow confidence of someone who has watched centuries pass. His head frills are narrower than is common and tipped with cracked gold leaf. He keeps an ancient leather-bound book strapped to his forearm with strips of faded cerulean ribbon. When he talks his jaw barely moves and a faint blue static dances at the corners of his mouth. Unexpectedly, his left eye is milky and human in appearance rather than reptilian, framed by a ring of tiny silver tattoos in a script only he remembers. He walks as if listening to a distant song only he can hear.