Voxil Draxus

Voxil Draxus salts his weapons with iron filings and keeps a chalk ledger of debts on his forearm, smudged by sweat and blood. A satyr with curly dark hair, small curved horns, and pointed ears that twitch at every argument, he grins while counting out rules like rations. When a fight starts, he doesn’t roar—he recites contract terms, then breaks them with a lawful, patient swing.