Draxian Flamar

Draxian's ember-bright eyes track movement with the patience of a predator, his charcoal hair stirring as though caught in heat that exists only around him. Scars stripe his rust-colored forearms—some from prey that fought back, others deliberately carved in rituals he never explains. His ranger's leathers are singed at the edges, perpetually warm to the touch, and he absently twists a length of braided sinew around his wrist, a habit born from long nights alone in the wilderness. When he smiles, there's nothing warm about it; it's the expression of something that's learned to mimic civility but never quite believed in it. The bow across his back bears notches for kills he remembers with perfect, troubling clarity.