Seraph is a lean, amber-furred tabaxi with dark charcoal stripes, bright green eyes, and a long tail that never seems to stop moving. He wears fitted scale mail over dark travel clothes, with a worn longbow slung across his back and twin shortswords riding low at his hips. His whiskers are carefully groomed, but his armor and gear are scuffed from hard travel and harder nights.

Seraph is alert, skeptical, and unexpectedly tender with anyone he decides is one of his own. He prefers rooftops to roads, shortcuts to ceremony, and action to argument. He treats every problem like a trail to be tracked, and every lie like a scent that can be followed back to its source.

Seraph was born in the high rafters of a sprawling river city, where the alleyways were as important to him as any jungle trail. As a kitten he learned to climb gutters, pick locks, and vanish into crowds before anyone noticed the stolen crust of bread in his paws. He survived by reading footsteps, watching patrol routes, and trusting the people most others overlooked, street children, dockworkers, and beggar-saints who traded secrets like coin. He learned early that a city could be hunted just like a forest, and that predators wore velvet as often as claws. When a gang pressed too hard on the neighborhood that fed him, Seraph found a bow in the hands of an aging border scout who had taken shelter in the slums after a failed campaign. The scout taught him how to track in rain-slick streets, how to strike first from the shadows, and how to read a target by breathing, not just by sight. Seraph took to the lessons with a hunter's joy, blending his tabaxi quickness with patient observation. Now he ranges beyond the walls as much as within them, chasing threats that prey on the helpless, and following rumors that always seem to lead him back into some new labyrinth of intrigue.