Iron-Beetle Marrak is a severe brass dragonborn whose heavily muscled frame seems built for forcing open barred doors rather than passing through them. His scales are a dark, burnished brass, dulled by years of soot, cellar damp, and polishing wax, with fine abrasion marks along his forearms from chains and ironwork. His unyielding amber eyes remain fixed on the hands, feet, and exits of everyone nearby. His left horn is securely capped in a snug, polished iron sheath engraved with tiny prison numbers. The cap gives that side of his head a blunt, asymmetrical silhouette. He stands with most of his weight settled over his back heel, perfectly still while waiting, as though braced against an unseen door. When he moves, he does so in short, economical shifts, never wasting a step or allowing his shoulders to turn away from a threat. He smells faintly of hot metal, lamp oil, wet stone, and bitter clove soap, a scent he insists is merely the prison's ventilation system. The unexpected contradiction is that beneath his intimidating armor, one can hear the soft, delicate chime of tiny ceramic prayer beads sewn into his inner collar.