Zythar E'zaleth

Zythar E’zaleth keeps their jaw clenched when the room gets quiet, tongue worrying a cracked copper tooth they pulled from a dead slaver’s necklace. Yellow-green skin hangs in tight lines over a sinewy frame, sunken eyes fixed on exits and ventilation grates. They paint runes in chalk on their bracers before every job—half for warding, half for bargaining—then draw on a grinning void-lens tucked in their belt when the bargaining fails.