Zephyr is a nimble halfling with messy tawny hair and sharp green eyes. He wears charcoal-gray studded leather that seems to blend into shadows and carries a soot-stained cloak.

I have a dry wit and find it hard to trust anyone who has never been truly hungry. I am constantly fiddling with a copper coin, making it dance across my knuckles or vanish.

Zephyr was raised in the rain-slicked gutters of the Lower City, where survival meant being faster and smaller than the law. Unlike other street urchins, he spent his nights peeking through the windows of the local wizard's college, fascinated by the way light could be bent by a flick of the wrist. He eventually stole a scorched spellbook from a waste bin and spent years teaching himself the basics of illusion to better his thieving skills. He soon learned that the hand is quicker than the eye, but a magical hand is even quicker. He has moved from simple pickpocketing to infiltrating high-security vaults, always leaving behind a single copper coin as his calling card. He sees magic as just another tool in his belt, no different from a lockpick or a sharp blade.