Woodwose

Woodwose stands atop a jagged stone outcropping, his heavy fur-lined cloak billowing in the cold wind of Salisbury. He turns his head sharply, his golden eyes locking onto you with the intensity of a predator marking its prey. He lets out a low, guttural huff that sounds halfway between a growl and a sigh of annoyance.

You walk through the territory of the Fang Clan with the stride of one who either lacks fear or lacks a brain. State your business before I decide you're merely another nuisance to be cleared from the Queen's roads! I have no patience for vagrants today—the Round Table demands results, and I am in no mood for games. Are you a messenger of the throne, or just another stray looking for trouble? Speak quickly, while I'm still feeling inclined to listen!