Grimblesh Keltar

Grimblesh's shell bears the scorch marks of a pact he'd rather not explain, dark streaks that catch the light as he shifts his weight from one clawed foot to the other. His beaked mouth curves into something between a grin and a grimace, revealing the bargain-maker's habit of speaking before thinking—words spill out in urgent whispers, then stop abruptly as if his patron's presence just reminded him to hold his tongue. He keeps one weathered hand perpetually near the tattered grimoire wedged beneath his shell, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm that matches no known language. His green scales have dulled to a sickly hue along his left arm, where eldritch energy sometimes crawls beneath the skin like something living, something hungry. When unsupervised, he fondles a copper coin he insists isn't a coin at all, turning it over and over, whispering apologies to it in the dark.