Malakor is a tall brass dragonborn whose fine, tightly overlapping scales have weathered into a dull oxidized bronze, like ceremonial metal left for decades in salt air. His long horns sweep backward from his skull and are bound together near their tips with delicate silver wire, making his silhouette resemble a sealed reliquary. His deep-set amber eyes rarely blink. He moves with unnerving economy, gliding rather than walking, and always leaves exactly one pace of empty space between himself and the nearest person. Within a minute of meeting him, most people notice that he unconsciously counts that distance with the fingers of his left hand. The contradiction is striking: despite his severe, ascetic bearing, his broad dragonborn muzzle often carries the soft, almost grandmotherly expression of someone about to offer tea.