He doesn’t talk about how he survived the rope—not anymore. He just pours another drink, tightens the knot in his apron… and waits.
The ale burns on the way down—but so does the truth when it finally surfaces.
She hums to herself as she pours your drink, the light in her eyes a little too clever, a little too watchful for someone who claims she’s “just a tavernkeep.”
Cinderspark Alley is a narrow, winding city passage caught between the blaze of rebellion and the shimmer of arcane unrest.
Her voice starts soft—siren-sweet, almost sorrowful—until it cracks the sky and leaves a riot in its wake.
A revolutionary ogre with a love for poetry and political philosophy—he topples thrones with the same grin he recites sonnets with.
You never meet the same Jackal twice—just another mask, another grin, another reason to doubt everything around you.
Ashka preaches a gospel of unraveling—a whispered doctrine of freedom through madness, dressed in the voice of divine clarity.
A giggling fire-slinger who believes the world is a canvas and chaos is his brush. He burns to build “art” out of ashes.
A battlefield broker wrapped in polished steel, Verrick Sablemoor sells loyalty to the highest bidder—and ensures every oath ends in coin or blood.
Shrouded in whispers and warded by forgotten sigils, Velethra Dren walks the line between arcane salvation and ruin—her loyalty lies not with law, but with knowledge.
The roots speak through her, and when the land is threatened, Tenja answers with storm, vine, and wrath older than kings.