A hulking white-tiger beastkin standing taller than most men, Fohl moves with surprising economy. His fur is thick, pearly white with riverlike black stripes that twist across shoulders like the braids of a war banner. Scar tissue nets the left side of his muzzle down to a jagged ear tip; a wide, flattened nose speaks of a dozen broken battles. He keeps his whiskers trimmed short and his claws blunt from constant training. He favors a low, squared stance and when he walks the ground seems to settle, as if measuring each step. Unexpectedly gentle hands — callused but careful — contrast with a face that can turn into a terrifying, toothy grin. When he activates his Beastform, the air around him hums faintly and his stripes glow with a pale, stony cadence, as if carved from living granite.