Vrakthos is a broad-chested black dragonborn whose scales have been permanently roughened by decades beside boiling sulfur vats. They are not glossy black, but matte and pitted, like volcanic glass left in acid rain. Tiny pale deposits cling to the ridges of his neck and shoulders, giving him the appearance of having been dusted with ash. He moves with the deliberate economy of someone who expects every floorboard, bridge, and battlefield to fail beneath him. His hands are enormous, dark, and heavily callused, with blunt claws stained ochre from hammer hafts, sulfur dust, and old medicinal salves. Within a minute of meeting him, most people notice that he smells faintly of hot iron, bitter herbs, and boiled eggs. Vrakthos knows this and considers it useful because people tend to tell the truth around a smell they cannot politely ignore. His battered plate armor makes him appear more like a piece of siege equipment than a noble officer, yet he keeps a tiny embroidered moth sewn inside his collar, an unexpectedly delicate token from a dead miner's daughter.