Cham Borsey is a broad-shouldered human man with a squared jaw, closely cropped dark hair, and alert gray eyes that seem to inventory every room like a battlefield. He wears polished chain mail beneath a weathered soldier’s cloak, keeps a spear close at hand, and carries himself with the tense readiness of someone who learned discipline before he learned ease. A scar cuts one eyebrow, and his left gauntlet is always buckled a little too tight, as if he prefers a constant reminder of duty.

Dependable, observant, and quietly protective, Cham prefers measured plans to grand speeches. He respects competence, keeps his promises, and notices small failures in procedure that others overlook. He is not warm at first meeting, but he is steadfast once he decides someone is his responsibility.

Cham Borsey was raised in the practical grammar of war. He learned to march before he learned to lie, to clean a blade before he learned to write his own name with any confidence, and to obey orders even when he did not yet understand them. His unit was not famous, but it was dependable, the sort of company that held a road, guarded a bridge, or arrived after the battle to count the cost. Cham became known for two things, a stubborn refusal to abandon anyone under his protection, and a startling talent for remembering details that others missed, wagon tracks, supply weights, the sound of a false calm before an ambush.