A young tiefling whose sweeping horns frame his face like the curved prongs of a ship's old signal bell. He moves with a forward-tilting bounce, always poised to dart around a shoulder or duck beneath a rope. His smile arrives a beat too early, brave enough to invite a wager and brittle enough to crack when someone names the danger plainly. His soot-dark fingertips and the faint smell of lamp oil mark him as a working crewman, while the little copper clapper he wears as an earring is an unexpected keepsake from his childhood as a bell-tower errand boy.

Pol is cocky when an audience is present and surprisingly careful with equipment when no one is looking. He needles people who underestimate him, yet watches their faces closely for approval. In a crisis, his first impulse is to make a reckless prediction; if someone he trusts is in danger, he can abruptly become focused and practical.

Pol grew up running messages between the bell towers and dock crews of Hearthfall, where he learned to identify boats by the different complaints of their rigging. A bell-hand on the Gannet crew took him aboard as a junior signal keeper. During a winter crossing, a soft, impossible note passed through the water and threw the crew's timing into confusion. Pol guessed when it would sound again and got the crew clear of a buckling ice lane. The veterans called it luck; Pol heard a challenge. Now he tracks strange acoustic pulses as if they were a game whose rules he can master. He wants the Gannet crew to trust him with a full watch, but his captain, Sella, keeps him on maintenance duty. His crewmate Brann, who once pulled him out of a freezing channel, worries that Pol's bets are turning a real warning into entertainment.