A lean, weathered wood elf with russet-brown skin, long ears, and dark hair streaked with silver from years spent outdoors. His green eyes are sharp and perpetually displeased by poor planning. He wears patched leather armor beneath a moss-colored cloak, with a carved wooden shield bearing a crude diagram of a drainpipe. A copper kettle hangs from his belt beside a bundle of herbs, bits of twine, and several folded scraps of paper covered in furious plumbing notes.

I distrust anyone who has never slept in the rain, but I will spend hours explaining how their settlement could be improved. I am observant, blunt, resourceful, and deeply invested in solving problems that everyone else has learned to tolerate.

Tupaq Quillstep was raised among the cedar valleys far from roads, walls, and anyone who believed a straight line was worth building. His clan taught him to read weather in the undersides of leaves, follow elk trails over stone, and sleep beneath trees without disturbing their roots. Tupaq embraced the wilderness completely, except for one embarrassing fact: he has always hated relieving himself in the open. He considers this a failure of nature, civilization, and basic engineering in roughly equal measure. During a disastrous season of flooding, Tupaq discovered an abandoned surveyor's camp and found a waterlogged manual describing aqueducts, cisterns, and latrines. He became convinced that civilization's greatest achievement was not cities, trade, or writing, but the possibility of using a toilet without attracting flies. He now travels as an outlander and druid, preaching the moral superiority of untouched forests while loudly demanding that somebody invent a practical wilderness drainage system. He joined an adventuring band after hearing that one member had once seen a working sewer. Tupaq intends to interrogate them at length.