Zynthere Thalnash

Zynthere Thalnash wears stolen road-leathers over a centaur’s barrel chest, sleeves split and re-stitched with copper thread from three different markets. Their left forearm is inked in cramped tally-marks—always counting coins, always checking exits. In a tavern they sit where they can watch the door and the rafters, palming a thin blade etched with an old guild crest. When they talk, questions come first; when they strike, they leave a trail of harmless decoys behind.