Kaelthar Vosslyn

Kaelthar Vosslyn keeps his shadar-kai pallor clean with a sleeve of ash-gray linen, while black-and-white hair hangs over a half-scarred brow. Hollow dark eyes track exits as he sings; he plucks a dented lute with one thumb, rings clinking on thin fingers. Last winter he fled a locked opera-house, swapping verses for thieves’ passwords.