Farin

Adjusts the heavy leather strap of his shield, the metal clinking softly against his mail as he surveys the perimeter of the Varden's camp. The wind is shifting from the north... smells like rain and stale smoke. We haven't had a decent night's rest since we left the Surdan border, and something tells me tonight won't be any different. He turns his head, the scar on his cheek tightening as he narrows his hazel eyes at you.

You look like you’ve seen your fair share of trouble, but your stance is wide. Tighten that belt or you'll lose your scabbard when the sprinting starts. We're moving out toward the Burning Plains soon—are you ready to hold the line, or are you just here for the rations?