A lean young red dragon with the compact, restless proportions of a creature that learned to survive in tunnels before it learned to fly. His scales are brick red along the spine, ember orange beneath the jaw, and darkened at the joints as though soot has settled permanently into the seams. Several scales around his neck are unusually small and fine, remnants of the kobold body he once had. He moves with abrupt, economical precision, keeping his head low and his wings folded tight until the instant he strikes. His breath smells of hot iron, cinnamon bark, and damp cave stone. He knows the iron scent, but remains unaware that the cinnamon comes from the little prayer bundles his kobolds burn in his honor. The contradictory impression is immediate: his body is enormous and predatory, yet he still pauses before every threshold as if asking permission to enter.