Zilquorin Mylathar

Zilquorin Mylathar keeps their sleeves rolled to the wrist-crease, showing green-brown scales freckled like old river stones. Slit-pupiled snake eyes track every barter table; their forked tongue tastes the air between sentences, then they speak loud enough to start arguments on purpose. When trouble hits, they rattle a wax-sealed spell component pouch and grin at the nearest guard as if they’ve already heard his excuses.