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He has a dragon's semblance, a dragon's frame: the right number of limbs, the right arrangement and design, down to each blued-steel claw. But it's his narrow eyes-- glowing pools set within the midnight shadow beneath his brow-- that are at once the most natural and the most telling thing about him; all else seems artifice, every inch armored in glossy, silvery blue aside from those eyes and his wings. His hide has such an innate sheen to it that one might imagine, with enough oil, it might mirror back whatever faced it; fine, darker lines articulate his joints and shape his already fine-wedged head in chiaroscuro to seem a helm that's larger than life. Larger than life also is the way he moves, with a powerful athleticism that lends breadth to an otherwise angular physique, and pride in how he bears the twin banners of his wings; they're richer, royal blue, subtly patterned as though with some crest that only the initiated may interpret. Any softness ends there, though. Even his tail looks as though it should clink as it flexes, its seemingly overlapping armor narrowing into a long, far-too-sharp tip.