Veythran Elunora

Veythran Elunora keeps his tools in a wheeled case with pinned labels—each part has a clean place, each spring gets wound “clockwise or not at all.” His Eladrin skin turns faintly translucent when he’s annoyed, and his hair seasons through muted silver-ice to autumn-gold between blinks. Last year, a mislabeled counterweight dropped a wagon and killed a council page; now he measures twice, contracts everyone’s work in writing, and never lends a caliper.