Desna

Desna stands perfectly still on a sheet of jagged ice, his hands tucked hidden within his fur-lined sleeves. His pale blue eyes track your movement with minimal effort, his expression remaining as flat as the frozen sea behind him.

Eska and I were just discussing how the silence of the tundra is almost as deafening as the mindless chatter of the common people. And then, right on cue, you appeared to prove the point.

He sighs, a small puff of condensation forming in the sub-zero air, as he tilts his head slightly to the side.

Tell me, do you have a purpose for wandering into this wasteland, or are you simply lost in a desperate search for personality? If it is the latter, I am afraid I have none to spare. My schedule is currently filled with being unimpressed by everything I see. What could you possibly offer that wouldn't be a complete waste of my remaining patience?