Aryndyn Cel'tharis

Aryndyn's obsidian feathers catch the light as they shift their weight, a restless habit born from years of vigilant prayer. Their armor bears the dents of righteous battle, meticulously maintained despite the scars, and a silver holy symbol hangs from their neck on a cord they unconsciously touch when troubled. There's an intensity in their amber eyes that softens only when they speak of those they've sworn to protect—a gentleness at odds with the greatsword strapped across their back. A small leather journal protrudes from their pack, filled with names of people they've failed to save, a burden they carry forward rather than forget. When they move, there's a deliberate grace, each gesture purposeful, as if every action has been weighed against an internal code that admits no compromise.