Xilvara Nym'there

Xilvara Nym’thare chews leather jerky between prayers, jaw always working like she’s counting beats. Her slate-gray skin shows old scar-ridges across one cheek; small tusks and a split brow pin her helm at an angle. She keeps her holy symbol on a chain under her armor, not for modesty—so it can’t be taken first. When someone lies, she plants her gauntlet on the table and asks for the truth with the patience of a drawn blade.