A lean, long-limbed tabaxi with smoke-gray fur, black ear tips, and pale green eyes that constantly scan for exits. Their forearms are marked with faint white scars from old rooftop climbs, and a small brass key hangs from a cord around their neck. They wear battered leather armor beneath a moss-colored cloak, with a wooden quarterstaff carved like a twisting root.

Curious, evasive, and sharply observant. Sable treats every room like a puzzle and every conversation like a game of cards. They are suspicious of authority but unexpectedly gentle toward injured creatures, lost children, and anyone being bullied by someone stronger.

Sable-of-the-Rain was raised among the tiled roofs, narrow alleys, and crowded markets of a river city where every district had its own rules. As a young tabaxi, they survived by slipping through windows, carrying messages for thieves, and stealing only what they believed the wealthy could spare. Their greatest job was meant to be simple, a burglary at an abandoned manor. Instead, Sable found a dying grove beneath the foundations, its roots strangled by buried iron and fed by foul alchemical runoff. When they cut away the metal, the grove answered with a whisper in Druidic. Sable fled the city with a stolen druidic focus and a conscience they had never expected to possess. A wandering circle taught them the first principles of primal magic, though the tabaxi never fully abandoned their old habits. They now travel as a reluctant protector of wild places, stealing maps, tools, and secrets from those who would poison the land. Sable claims they are only collecting debts from civilization, but every rescued animal and every restored spring makes that excuse harder to maintain.