A small kobold with ember-gold scales, soot-dark claws, and bright anxious eyes that miss almost nothing. Kobolton wears a simple chain shirt over temple robes patched with darker cloth, a holy symbol hanging beside a set of thieves' tools. Their snout is usually smeared with ink, ash, or candle wax, and their tail flicks constantly when they are thinking or lying.

Earnest, watchful, and surprisingly gentle with anyone who seems wounded or overlooked. Kobolton tries to sound authoritative now that they are a cleric, but the effort comes out as a mixture of temple formalities and streetwise sarcasm. They are brave in the way a small creature must be brave, by choosing forward motion even when their knees shake.

Kobolton was raised in the margins of a city that never truly noticed a kobold until something went missing. Small, quick, and impossible to ignore once they learned to speak with conviction, they drifted between work, survival, and petty theft until a temple novice took pity on them. The temple gave them bread, books, and a place to kneel. In return, Kobolton gave the first thing they had ever offered freely, devotion. They studied prayer with a seriousness that startled the older clergy, and for the first time in their life, they imagined becoming someone worthy of trust. That future went up in smoke. One night the temple was set ablaze by a mysterious figure who fled before anyone could be caught. Kobolton survived by crawling through heat and cinders, but the sacred place that had taught them mercy became a ruin of black stone and broken vows. Now they wear their novice faith like a fresh scar. They still believe the gods saw the fire, and that the arsonist was not finished. If law cannot find the culprit, Kobolton will. If holiness will not protect the innocent, then this kobold will use whatever tools are necessary, prayer, lies, stolen keys, or a dagger in the dark.