A small, wiry kobold with rust-red scales, a narrow muzzle, bright amber eyes, and a jagged scar across his left shoulder. He wears battered chain mail sized for his slight frame, carries a polished wooden shield marked with a crude dragon claw, and keeps his sword meticulously clean. His oversized ears twitch constantly, especially when he hears danger or opportunity.

Skrik is alert, practical, and relentlessly observant. He speaks with the clipped precision of a veteran giving battlefield reports, yet he is fascinated by heroic traditions and secretly wants people to tell stories about his exploits. He respects competence more than titles and becomes fiercely protective of anyone who earns his trust.

Skrik Quickclaw was hatched beneath an abandoned border fortress, where his kobold clan survived by scavenging weapons, armor, and forgotten military supplies. When a patrol of human soldiers discovered the tunnels, Skrik expected slaughter. Instead, a grizzled sergeant noticed that the young kobold could move silently, read old tactical markings, and identify every weak point in the fortress walls. The sergeant took him in as a camp servant, then trained him as a scout and shield bearer. Skrik eventually earned the unofficial rank of corporal after warning his unit about an ambush and leading a desperate retreat through a collapsed mine. He became known for darting between enemy lines, drawing attacks away from wounded allies, and striking precisely at exposed targets. His service ended when his commanding officer ordered the destruction of a kobold warren that had never attacked the army. Skrik refused, abandoned his post, and kept the officer's insignia as proof that orders are not the same thing as justice. Now he sells his blade to adventuring companies, hoping to gather enough coin and influence to build a fortress where small folk, outcasts, and deserters can survive on their own terms.