Pyrissa Vynara

Pyrissa Vynara keeps a bent silver flute looped on a chain at her belt, and every time she tunes it, she checks her audience’s hands for coin. A satyr with curly dark hair, little curled horns, and pointed ears that twitch at overheard rumors, she dresses in mismatched sleeves stitched with patchwork theater tickets. Her songs start in tavern chatter and end in borrowed locks—then she leaves a ha’penny rhyme as proof she was there.