Xylgryn Vorvan

Xylgryn Vorvan keeps a ledger in grease-pencil on slate tied to her belt, each entry paired with a notch on her knuckled leather wraps. Her yellow-green skin and large ears twitch at every shouted bargain; she answers by counting faults, not favors. She’s three feet of springy wiry muscle in a monk’s sash frayed at the knots, moving in short, strict lines. When a foreman cheated her crew, she sued him through midnight service contracts until the guards handed him over.