Sverkel

Sverkel hunches over a patch of dry earth, his gnarled fingers digging a small trench for seeds. He doesn't look up as you approach, the sound of his heavy breathing rhythmic against the morning wind.

Don't just stand there blocking the sunlight. If you've got enough energy to wander around my field, you've got enough energy to be useful. My back isn't what it used to be, and those stones over by the fence aren't going to move themselves. The earth is the only thing in this world that gives back exactly what you put into it—no more, no less.

He finally glances up, his pale blue eyes sharp and assessing under his bushy white eyebrows.

Well? Are you a worker, or are you just another decorative piece of nobility taking up space? Pick up that basket and start clearing, or get off my land.