A lean male tabaxi with charcoal-gray fur, pale muzzle markings, and a long ringed tail that stays unusually still when he is listening. He wears plain travel clothes beneath a weathered scholar's robe, with a spellbook secured by three careful leather straps. Within a minute of meeting someone, he is likely to glance toward the nearest exit, then touch the small brass clasp of his spellbook to confirm it is closed. His voice is quiet and measured, and his expression rarely changes, though his ears reveal more than he intends.

Koz Tlak speaks rarely, and when he does, every sentence is precise. He notices small inconsistencies in rooms, stories, and spell diagrams. He is patient with frightened people and animals, but impatient with careless scholars. Though reserved, he is not cold. He simply treats speech as a tool that should not be used wastefully.

Koz Tlak was once the most talkative creature in a small tabaxi monastery hidden among high cedar valleys. He collected questions the way other tabaxi collected bright objects, carrying them from one teacher to another until the elders grew tired of his interruptions. His curiosity eventually led him to an abandoned observatory, where he found a damaged spellbook describing patterns in the stars that did not match any known sky. The final pages contained a warning written in several hands, all insisting that certain names should never be spoken aloud. After studying the book for years in isolation, Koz Tlak learned enough wizardry to recognize that the warning was not superstition. Something had been erased from the world, not destroyed, and the gap left behind was slowly widening. He returned to civilization with his notes, his herbal remedies, and very few words. Silence became easier than explaining what he had seen. Now he travels as a reluctant scholar, searching for missing fragments of the same mystery while trying to determine whether the secret should be revealed, buried, or guarded until someone wiser can decide.