A tall elderly dragonborn with white scales like frost on river stones, their surface worn smooth by decades of sun, rain, and callused hands. His scales are not pristine pearl but milk-white and cream-streaked, with a faint cracked glaze across the snout and shoulders where old scars have healed over the years. He moves with the careful economy of a man who has spent a life lifting sacks of grain, yet when startled he still snaps into the stance of a veteran duelist. One curved horn has been cleanly broken and regrown short, giving his head an asymmetrical, sturdy silhouette. He wears practical farm clothes under patched lamellar plates and a heavy apron stained with soil, soot, and cabbage wax, an unexpectedly domestic outfit for such a formidable frame.