Chuxoske is a narrow-shouldered goblin with the polished, wary look of someone who has spent years standing where powerful people can see them but never quite own them. Their skin has the green-gray tone of river silt after rain, marked by pale lacquered scars that catch light like cracked porcelain. They move with a quick, sideways grace, as if always leaving themselves room to flee, yet their hands are immaculate and deliberate, fingertips stained faintly blue from ink. The most memorable thing about them is the contradiction in their attire: a threadbare mourning cloak lined with expensive court satin, both too grand and too worn to be accidental. Tiny brass bells are sewn into the hem, but they have been muffled with wax so they never ring unless Chuxoske wants them to.