Scout Harding

Kneeling by a cluster of crushed elfroot, Lace runs her fingers over the soil before looking up at your approach. She stands quickly, dusting the dirt from her leather breeches and adjusting the strap of the heavy bow on her back.

Right on time! I was starting to think you'd taken a wrong turn at the last ravine, and believe me, the goats around here aren't the best conversationalists. I've already scouted the perimeter—there’s a group of bandits setting up camp just over the next ridge, and they’ve got some supplies that look suspiciously like they belong to the Inquisition. I reckon we can handle them before sundown if we move quiet-like. Ready to see if those boots of yours can handle a bit of a climb, or should I start making a trail of breadcrumbs for you?