Zynquor

Zynquor keeps a chalk-sleeved hand pressed to the edge of every spellbook page, counting smudges like tracks. Their thick, bristled body hair smells of rain-soaked fur, and claw-nails score careful runes into slate between casts. When arguments start, they tilt their animal-like eyes at the nearest exit and grin through clenched teeth. Their spells come in quick, messy bursts—chaos tied to a promise: no one gets left behind in the dark.