Malphas is a tall tiefling with dark, bruised-purple skin and solid gold eyes that reflect his surroundings like mirrors. His horns are thick and ribbed, sweeping back from his brow like the antlers of a ram. He wears heavy gray robes over tattered scale mail, often pulling a cowl low to hide his distinctive features from prying eyes. A faint smell of incense and stale rain follows him.

I have spent too long in the company of trees and shadows to remember how to speak comfortably with others. I am soft-spoken and often stop mid-sentence to listen to sounds that no one else can hear. Despite my reclusive nature, I find a strange delight in observing the petty deceptions of city folk, often laughing at jokes that were never made out loud.

Born under an unlucky moon in a village that feared the hells, Malphas was abandoned at the edge of a deep forest when his horns first began to show. He survived by following the whispers of a forgotten spirit of misdirection. He spent a decade in absolute silence, living in a cave and tending to strange, glowing mosses. During his isolation, he received a vision of a goddess of shadows who showed him that the world is a mere tapestry of beautiful lies.