Grivak Xandrel

Grivak Xandrel wears a dented breastplate over a soot-red coat, the hem always singed as if he sparked it himself. His blue-purple skin carries old sweat-scars, and his curved horns are filed flat where he once fought inside a low chapel. He grips a smoke-black warhammer with wrapped leather that reeks of clove oil. When idle, he snaps his tail cord between finger and knuckle, counting targets by rhythm, not names.