Mezzok Treshni

Mezzok Treshni keeps his holy book in a satchel marked with every “found” item he swears he returned: a bell, a clasp, a chalk-stained map. The kender’s pointed ears twitch at coin jingles, bright eyes scanning hands for pockets to check, always counting without asking. He wears a patched priest’s tabard over travel leathers and paints tiny scales on his knuckles with chalk from church stairs. When the bell tolls, he writes the names of the missing in the margin—then “discovers” them close by.