Kynathra Vos'mel

Kynathra Vos’mel wears a dented breastplate scratched with tally-marks where she’s “kept” her own oaths. Glossy black feathers and a sharp beak frame bright eyes that track entrances before she prays. In sermons she never raises her voice—she catalogs rules, then makes you repeat them. Clawed hands worry a rosary of blackened bone beads, one per broken promise. After a contract turned to betrayal, she swore law would punish itself first.