Zorvyn Skaldrek

Zorvyn Skaldrek wears a patched traveling coat over a thief’s vest and keeps his long ears free of hats; he listens through doors by tapping his knuckles in the gaps. A grey-white harengon with mottled fur and a crooked smile, he carries whetstone and lockpicks wrapped in oilcloth, never coins. When the night watch sings the same yard-laugh every hour, he counts it—then cuts the guard’s route with a timed snare.