Unnamed agent

A man, hollow-cheeked and precise — a storm-shepherd of the broken coast, long-limbed, almost spiderlike. Clad in smoked glass lamellar; oil-sheen rainbows on wet plate. Wearing a visorless helm with a torn plume; bearing a staff crowned with a dead lantern. Marked by a split lip that never healed; it carries small bells that make no sound. Wreathed in thin rain that touches nothing else, its colors charcoal and furnace orange. Caught weapon held low, trailing sparks — amused at a private joke. The mark rides the left side; its relic is bound tight, trimmed with a handful of knuckle-bones.