Cinderbroker

Cinderbrokers are minor devils employed by infernal contracts bureaus to escort, cajole, or repossess mortal souls that fall behind on their bargains. They are not generals of Hell, but they are indispensable: efficient collectors who blend into town squares and back alleys, wearing borrowed finery to make their work easier. Most surface folk think of them as rumors told to frighten bad debtors; merchants who have faced one speak of its unnervingly polite ledger and the way it ticks off names as if reading from a list no mortal may see. The trade guild known as the Brass Coin Syndicate keeps a ledger on these devils' movements and has profited from selling talismans that occasionally delay a Cinderbroker's arrival by a night or two. Scholars such as Archivist Drelm of the Bastion of Rial have catalogued dozens of brief, identical recitals given by Cinderbrokers—each offers the same three clauses before the hammer falls. Legends say an obscure infernal office called the Brokership of the Ninth keeps records and assigns Cinderbrokers like clerks sent to collect overdue signatures on contracts across the mortal world. They prefer cityscapes, inns, and gambling dens, where debts are frequent and paperwork minimal. Rural folk rarely see them; wolves and wolves' teeth are more immediate concerns than a devil in a tailored suit.

A slender, small-bodied devil about 4 1/2 feet tall in human form. Skin is a matte, ember-red with faint, veinlike black fissures that glimmer when it uses magic. Two short, backward-curving horns protrude from a neat hairline, polished to a dull sheen. Its face is smooth and angular, lips thin; permanently worn narrow sunglasses hide burning eyes. It wears a well-cut three-piece suit—vest, jacket, tie—tailored to suggest wealth: fabric patterned with tiny infernal sigils, thread trimmed with copper. One hand carries a length of braided leather blackjack capped with a metal stud; the other palm bears a faint scorch-mark sigil that flares when it conjures flame. Fingers are slightly elongated with dark, clean nails. When it moves, the suit never wrinkles and ash falls off its shoulders as if not really part of the mortal world. Scale reference: shown beside a human standing in a narrow city doorway (the Cinderbroker reaches chest height of an average human). Texture notes: skin slightly coarse like dried leather, suit fabric smooth with tiny embroidered sigils, blackjack scuffed and oily from use.