Kaelen is a statuesque blue dragonborn whose scales carry the dark, granular sheen of storm glass, deep cobalt at the shoulders and bruised violet along the ribs. His silver eyes remain unnervingly still when others speak, as though he is measuring the weight of every syllable. His horns sweep backward in short, disciplined arcs, each etched with gold-inlaid commendations that have been polished smooth by decades of gloved fingers. He moves with economical precision, never quite turning his whole body when a slight tilt of the head will do. His immaculate plate armor is blackened until it drinks the chamber's lamplight, while a mantle of heavy white fur hangs from one shoulder. He smells faintly of hot metal, cedar oil, and ozone, an unsettling contradiction to the immaculate austerity of his presentation. The unexpected softness is a narrow strip of blue prayer-cloth wrapped around the haft of his glaive, frayed where his thumb worries it during moments of doubt.