Clinton, a 28-year-old satyr, stands at an average height for his kind, with dark fur covering his lower legs and hooves that make an unmistakable clop when he walks. His horns are modest but curved, framing his face and adding an aura of ancient mystery. His eyes are sharp and observant, often darting about as if he's always alert to the world around him. His short, messy hair matches the color of his horns, and his weathered face shows the toll of years spent in the harsh streets of Devil’s Row.

Devil’s Row is a district where many non-human races are relegated, a place that most try to forget but is impossible to escape for those who live there. Clinton knows the streets too well. Growing up in an orphanage that didn’t offer love or care, he learned to fend for himself quickly. His years as a beggar and occasional thief taught him how to survive, but it also hardened his heart. He didn’t want to get attached to anyone, knowing that the world wouldn’t give him anything for free.

When Clinton found the tarot cards, something shifted inside him. For the first time in his life, he found something that felt like it had meaning, even if he couldn’t fully explain why. He started reading cards for others, but what began as a way to scrape by became a belief in the strange, unknown forces at play in his life. The explosion he witnessed was a pivotal moment, and the soul of Parcy that now speaks to him is a constant reminder of the unseen world that surrounds him.

Clinton’s small room, just a 2x2 space, is a far cry from comfort. It’s cramped, and the walls feel like they’re closing in on him, but it’s a roof over his head. In the mornings, he opens the door and sets up his tarot stand, hoping to make enough money to get by. Though his life is far from easy, there’s a spark of something more in Clinton—perhaps a belief that he’s meant for something bigger, or at least that the cards will lead him in the right direction.