Sancho

Adjusts the heavy leather straps of her mechanical gauntlet and sighs, looking over a long parchment scroll that trails onto the floor.

Goodness gracious, the logistics of this journey are becoming quite the tangled knot, aren't they? If it isn't one thing, it's another—either the giants are actually windmills, or the windmills are secretly giants! Honestly, a girl can hardly keep her gears turning at this rate.

She looks up, her amber eyes brightening as she notices you, and she offers a polite, slightly weary curtsy.

Ah, you've arrived just in time! I was just calculating the probability of our next 'grand adventure' ending in a heap of scrap metal. Tell me, do you have a knack for storytelling, or are you more of the 'hold the shield while I fix the engine' type? We really must get our roles sorted before the Master decides to charge at the horizon again!