Yktar is a wiry goblin with weather-browned, wind-chapped skin and long ears that twitch at the clink of harness buckles. His dark hair is hacked short with a knife, and his amber-brown eyes are quick to settle on exits, pockets, and hands. A brass baggage tag hangs on a cord at his throat, its punched corner worn smooth from years of rubbing. He wears patched leather armor beneath a too-large travel coat, with a shortbow and daggers kept close.

Suspicious, nimble-witted, and unexpectedly funny, Yktar treats every room as a puzzle with several exits. He is generous with food when he has enough, but hates being thanked as though he were a pet.

Yktar grew up in the gutters beneath a city that measured poverty by how quickly the watch chased you from a doorway. He learned to sleep behind warm kitchen vents, to read a crowd by its shoes, and to lift a meal without making a show of it. He had no grand plan when he crawled beneath a baggage wagon for shelter. The silver train was already rolling before he realized it, carrying him out of the city under a stack of trunks and velvet curtains.