Vesperva Duskglass

Vesperva’s earliest memories are a blur of crowded docks, the scent of spiced oranges, and the rasp of whispers in markets where nothing is truly free. The city’s currents carried them along in a tide of faces—marketers with bright smiles who never asked for names, and players who used counterfeit coins to buy bravery and fear in the same breath. Their mother, a street artist who painted sigils of protection on crumbling walls, taught Vesperva the art of perception and the way a silent observer can glean truth from a crowded room. Their father, a man who stitched false identities for profit, showed them the power of deception and the elegance of a story told well enough to become reality. When a debt owed to a dangerous patron left their family with a damaged reputation and a ruined home, Vesperva took what little they had left and fled into the city’s underbelly. The city became a school, and the alleyways a classroom. They learned to read people like maps—where they would go, what they would fear, and where they would bend to a well-timed lie. The Charlatan’s trade became their lifeblood: a practiced patter, a counterfeit charm, and the precise misdirection needed to slip away from the consequences of a bad choice. They have since adopted a code: never risk the innocent, never exhaust one’s options, and always have an exit plan. Their identity remains a layered mask, one of many, each with its own backstory and purpose. They travel from town to town, picking up rumors, codes, and currencies of reputations, always seeking the next person who believes the mask they wear is the real self. But deep down, Vesperva fears losing themselves entirely to the art of deceit, and the thought of waking to find every mask indistinguishable from their true face keeps them vigilant, cunning, and forever unbound.