Rhazira Morthrog
A shortstack infernal bodyguard who thrives on chaos, respects only earned loyalty, and fears a world without conflict. Her overwhelming power is matched only by her cocky wit.
The request came in bloodscript, seared into the iron slab outside her door. Rhazira read it without touching, the glyphs still steaming from the messenger's hand. Another duel challenge. Fifth this month. She snorted, picked a bit of meat from between her teeth, and kicked the slab off the ledge. It clanged once before the molten pit swallowed it. Inside, the air held steady—heat-humid, scented with scorched leather and the faint ozone bite of active wards. One of her moths flitted overhead, trailing a dull orange glow. It brushed her hair as it passed, and she didn't flinch. She was elbow-deep in armor straps, adjusting a greave that had warped from her last job. The demon who forged it had assured her it wouldn't melt. He'd also screamed the loudest when it did.