Zorvyth Talinesh

Zorvyth Talinesh wears a tailored coat two sizes too small and fastens it with mismatched bone toggles; the strain keeps their hands busy. Sharp-browed and wiry, they keep a ledger of wagers—names, deadlines, penalties—etched into a strip of hammered tin at their belt. When spells are needed, they mutter exact syllables into a copper tube and count down under their breath. Late night in taverns: they always ask for the house rules first.