Elvori Nyxal

Elvori Nyxal wears a church’s borrowed tabard over travel leathers, cuffs stained with axle grease and river silt. Their silver prayer beads clack against a bone-dry whistle every time they lie—quiet enough to pass clerks, loud enough to warn thieves. At dawn they count bandage wraps by knot type, then break protocol to heal anyone who asks twice. When angry, they sermon in curses.