Sorevra Frost-Hark
Ranger 15, Zenith Wing Conclave
Sorevra Frost-Hark
Species
Half-Dragon, Silver Draconic Ancestry
Appearance
Sorevra is a tall half-dragon woman with sleek silver scales that overlap like fine metal leaves along her throat, shoulders, and forearms. Ice-blue ridges sweep from her brow to the base of her skull, giving her profile the clean geometry of a ceremonial helm. Her movements are economical and oddly quiet for someone in plate, with each step placed as if she were crossing a narrow bridge above open air. She watches exits, balconies, hands, and windows before she looks at faces. The unexpected softness is in her hands, which are broad-fingered and careful, always smelling faintly of cedar wax and wintergreen despite the weapons and armor she carries. People remember the sensation of being inspected by a weather vane that has learned their name.
“Measured and resonant, with clipped formal phrasing. Her voice becomes warmer and lower when addressing servants or frightened civilians, but turns glacially precise when speaking to nobles.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
Her silver scales carry fine blue lines that brighten when she is near unstable leyline energy.
She never turns her back fully on a window, balcony, or open stairwell.
A thin line of frost forms around the rim of any cup she holds for more than a few seconds.
Her silver heraldic horn bears seven tiny notches, one for each treaty she personally prevented from collapsing.
She presses wax seals with her left hand while holding eye contact with the recipient.
Voice
“A low, clear contralto with a faint rasp like ice sliding over stone. In strong wind, her words remain unnervingly distinct, each syllable carrying farther than it should.”
Clothing
Tailored mithral plate mail fitted beneath a dark velvet mantle fastened by a silver clasp shaped like a folded wing. Her gloves are lined with pale blue wool, her boots have retractable climbing spurs, and her belt carries a silver heraldic horn, a wax-seal press, charter tubes, and three colors of diplomatic cord.
Body Language
Sorevra stands with her shoulders squared toward the nearest exit and her weight slightly forward, as if prepared to step into a gust. She keeps one hand near her wax-seal press rather than her weapon. During negotiations, her eyes move constantly across the room, but her head remains nearly still. When someone earns her trust, she allows herself one visible exhale through her nostrils, accompanied by a faint curl of frost.
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