Mohrveth Sil'nalok

Mohrveth Sil’nalok keeps his hood down in daylight, letting pale grey skin and hollow, dark-eyed stare work the room. The black-and-white stubble is uneven where he shaved between planes, and thin shadow-tattoos crawl up his throat from old bargains. He wears a black glove with a ripped knuckle on his spell-hand, muttering short prayers to something that answers only when he lies. He laughs when guards blink—then hires the blinker to “fix” the lie.