Thraxis is a narrow-shouldered dragonborn with tarnished silver scales that catch the light like old coins rather than polished armor. His scales overlap in uneven ridges along his throat, giving his voice a faint rasp even when he whispers. A pair of vestigial silver wings emerges between his shoulder blades, too small for flight but large enough to stir dust when he turns sharply. He moves with careful, deliberate economy, as if every gesture has been recorded in a legal transcript. His face is severe and hawkish, yet his hands are unexpectedly delicate, with long black claws stained permanently by blue sealing ink. The contradictory impression is striking: he looks like a ceremonial war hero, but carries himself like an exhausted archivist afraid of disturbing a sleeping room.