Quilliam Marshpaddle is a three-foot-tall anthropomorphic duck with the cunning of a man and the body of a waterfowl, a living testament to one hedge-wizard's petty spite and one man's refusal to let it break him. His glossy brown-and-white plumage is always somewhat damp-looking, no matter how dry the weather, and his bright orange bill carries a small nick near the tip from a tavern brawl he insists he won.
His amber eyes are sharp, restless, and quick to narrow in suspicion—qualities that served him well in his former life and serve him better in this one. He stands upright on wide webbed feet, wings folded across a lean, wiry torso like a traveler's cloak, and he moves with a rolling, deliberate gait that hides surprising speed.
Quilliam dresses in a patched dark-green traveler's tunic with an oversized hood, a frayed rope belt, and a battered satchel slung across his chest. A pair of stolen lockpicks peek from a fold of cloth at his hip, kept out of habit as much as necessity. Despite his small stature, he carries himself with a defiant, almost combative confidence, planting his feet wide in a martial stance whenever he senses trouble.
His personality blends streetwise pragmatism with an unexpectedly disciplined spirit. Years of criminal life taught him to read people, move quietly, and strike fast; his monastic training since the curse has given those instincts structure and purpose. He is Chaotic Good at heart—distrustful of authority, loyal to the few who have earned it, and incapable of watching the small and helpless get bullied. He is bitter about his transformation but has channeled that bitterness into mastery of his strange new body, turning a duck's frame into a weapon: a hardened beak, gliding wings, and a swimmer's grace. He dreams, quietly and obsessively, of finding the wizard who cursed him.
