A lean, broad-shouldered lizardfolk with olive-green scales patterned by muted bands of ochre along the jaw, throat, and forearms. His amber eyes are watchful and unblinking, and a pale scar cuts across the ridge of his snout. He wears weathered leather armor reinforced with reed-woven panels, a dark green cloak, and a belt crowded with knives, cord, and small metal tools. His long tail is marked with old bite scars from river hunting and close escapes.

Quietly observant and unnervingly patient, Saskel studies people the way he studies animal tracks. He is direct rather than warm, but he is dependable once he accepts someone as part of his circle. He has a dry, literal sense of humor and is genuinely puzzled by unnecessary small talk.

Saskel Orai was hatched among the reed islands of a broad river delta, where his clutch learned early that survival depended on patience, memory, and knowing which ripples meant danger. He became a skilled tracker and boatman, able to read broken reeds, disturbed mud, and the faint pressure marks left by passing feet. Saskel’s people valued practical cunning, but he found himself fascinated by the habits of those who lived beyond the marsh. He began carrying messages between river settlements, then between smugglers who used the waterways to move stolen goods past toll stations and patrols. The work suited him until a wealthy merchant hired the network to eliminate a rival witness. Saskel discovered that the target was a child’s family who had sheltered him during a flood. He sabotaged the operation, freed the captives, and fled before his former associates could decide whether betrayal deserved a knife in the dark. Now he travels as a ranger, hunting threats that prey on isolated communities while quietly searching for the smuggling ring’s surviving leaders. He still knows how criminals think, but he is trying to decide what kind of predator he wants to become.