Nyxara Veldarune

Nyxara Veldarune speaks in bursts between spells, like each sentence costs spark. Their hedgehog-soft brown quills stand in tidy rows down the back, and when they’re nervous they rattle their clawed fingers against a coin pouch stitched from sailcloth. At dawn they scratch tiny sigils into clay steps to “remind” their fire where to bloom—then wear char-stained gloves and grin at the scorch marks they left.