Valas is a lean elf with sharp, avian features and skin the color of twilight. He keeps his silver hair cropped short to avoid snagging on chimney pipes or jagged stones. He wears a suit of dark, soot-stained studded leather that has been silenced with oiled joints, and a tattered cloak that shifts between grey and black in the dim light. His fingers are long and scarred from years of handling jagged metal and acid traps.

Valas is practical and deceptively charming, possessing a dry wit that surfaces most when he is in danger. He views the world as a series of obstacles to be bypassed rather than enemies to be fought. He rarely trusts those who haven't bled for their meals, but he possesses a deep, quiet compassion for those the world has cast aside.

Born in the sprawling filth of the Lower City, Valas never saw a forest until he was fifty years old. He grew up beneath the floorboards of a tailor shop, learning to time his movements to the rhythm of the loom to avoid detection. He began as a 'gutter-cat', stealing crusts of bread and stray copper pieces, before graduating to the dangerous trade of guild burglary. The city's rooftops were his playground, and its secrets were his currency. Over time, he became a shadow that even the most prestigious vault-keepers feared. He doesn't steal for the gold itself, but for the satisfaction of proving that no door is ever truly locked to those with the will to open it. He has seen kingdoms rise and fall from his vantage point on the rafters, remaining a constant, unseen observer of the urban sprawl.