Naughta Dr. Justis Naughta is a broad-shouldered human man with a powerful build, close-cropped dark hair, and an expressive face that seems permanently caught between amusement and challenge. He wears well-maintained chain mail beneath a faded red military surcoat, and an old brass officer's whistle hangs from a cord around his neck. The whistle is polished bright everywhere except where his thumb rests, which has worn a dark, smooth crescent into the metal. He carries himself with expansive confidence, planting his boots wide and gesturing with his whole arm when he speaks. His shield bears a crudely painted white hand, the symbol of a unit that no longer officially exists.

Naughta is exuberant, direct, and fiercely protective. He treats strangers like potential squadmates until they prove otherwise, remembers the names of cooks and stable hands, and has an endless supply of loud encouragement for anyone attempting something difficult. He enjoys dramatic introductions, ridiculous nicknames, and turning every practical task into a team exercise. Beneath the swagger is a deeply observant veteran who notices who is frightened, who is being ignored, and who is quietly doing the work that keeps everyone alive.

Naughta Dr. Justis Naughta was raised in a crowded human river district where names were often chosen for luck, defiance, or the hope that a child might become too memorable to disappear. His family had little money, but Naughta had an abundance of strength and an instinctive hatred of bullies. He joined the city militia as soon as he was old enough, less from patriotism than from the promise that a uniform could put him between ordinary people and those who believed power made them untouchable. He became a soldier, then a squad leader, and eventually the unofficial conscience of the Red Hand company.