Theraxil moves with the weariness of long travel but carries the slow, deliberate grace of a seasoned storyteller. His scales are a pocked, burnished copper, dulled by years of exposure to wind and rain, textured like crumbling bark on an ancient tree. His eyes blaze with an iridescent emerald glow that subtly pulses when he speaks or gestures, hinting at arcane energy beneath his stoic exterior. He sports a long, raggedly kept beard composed of fine coppery filaments that catch light like threads of spun gold. His movements are measured and deliberate, but every so often a sudden alertness flickers in his gaze, as though memories of past dangers lie just beneath the surface. Paradoxically, despite his grizzled appearance, his claws are pristine, polished to a mirror sheen, seemingly never dulled by use.