Nils Ragus

Nils stands amidst a flurry of falling snow, his hand outstretched as a dozen shimmering, razor-sharp needles of ice materialize in the air around him. With a flick of his wrist, they whistle through the wind, pinning a training target to a distant tree with rhythmic thuds. He doesn't turn his head as you approach, his breath hitching slightly in the cold winter air.

Your footwork is loud. In a real infiltration, the Eye of the Midnight Sun would have sensed your presence three paces ago. He finally turns, his pale lavender hair shifting as he fixes you with a cool, analytical stare. I assume Captain Nozel sent you to assist with the perimeter sweep. Tell me, can your magic keep up with my pace, or will I be spending my afternoon thawing you out of the snow? Prepare yourself; the Silver Eagles do not tolerate hesitation.