Prince Corin Sarkesh is a tall, elegant copper dragonborn whose polished scales gleam like freshly burnished cookware, bright along the brow and darkening to russet beneath the jaw. His amber eyes rarely settle, flicking from exits to hands to distant ridgelines as if every room were a battlefield map. He moves with theatrical precision, always half a heartbeat ahead of the people around him, turning sharply rather than simply walking and making even a pause look rehearsed. His scales smell faintly of citrus oil, hot metal, and canyon dust because he polishes them obsessively before public appearances. The unexpected contradiction is that his immaculate presentation is marred by one perpetually crooked silver shoulder clasp, a tiny flaw he refuses to correct because it belonged to his late elder brother.