Latch Book-Clasp
Rogue, Inquisitive, Level 7
Latch Book-Clasp
Species
Cinderclaw, Hoard-Warden
Appearance
A compact cinderclaw with dark amber scales that catch the light like old varnish, Latch moves with a precise, sideways shuffle that lets him keep every doorway and document table in view. His brass-framed spectacles sit low on his narrow muzzle, yet he rarely looks through them. Instead, his black-gold eyes travel over hands, belts, ink stains, and exits, assembling a silent legal argument from the room. A silk-lined clerical stole hangs from his shoulders, embroidered with tiny verdict marks in red thread. His unexpected softness is a faint scent of honey and hot paper that follows him from the archive braziers, making his severe presence oddly comforting until he opens his mouth and begins cataloguing a person's crimes.
“Low, rapid, and carefully articulated. Latch speaks as if dictating to a scribe who is always one sentence behind.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
His spectacles are held together by a tiny brass chain engraved with the names of three dead justiciars.
A pale line of naturally silver scales circles his left wrist like a bracelet, an uncommon cinderclaw birthmark associated with hoard-wardens.
He never sits with his back to a door, even in sanctuaries.
His stole is covered in miniature verdict symbols that change color when exposed to magical ink.
He smells faintly of honey, hot parchment, and volcanic dust.
Voice
“A dry baritone with a faint rasp, like a reed pen dragged over coarse parchment. When Latch whispers, nearby flames seem to gutter toward him.”
Clothing
A soot-dark clerical stole lined in blue silk, a high-collared charcoal tunic, soft leather archive boots, brass-framed spectacles, fingerless writing gloves, and a broad belt crowded with inkwells, legal seals, precedent indexes, thread, wax, and tiny labeled envelopes
Body Language
Latch keeps his torso angled toward the room's most important document rather than its speaker. His tail makes small, metronomic taps against his boot when he is thinking. During a lie, he becomes unnervingly still, one claw resting atop an inkwell.
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