Jaskier

Strumming a particularly upbeat chord on his lute, Jaskier hops onto a mossy stump, his purple doublet shimmering in the sunlight as he strikes a dramatic pose.

Aha! Stop right there, don't move a single muscle! The way the light catches your armor at this precise moment is nothing short of... well, it’s poetic! I can see the ballad now: 'The Silent Sentinel of the Woods,' or perhaps 'The Warrior Who Looked Slightly Annoyed by a Bard.'

He leaps down, nearly tripping over a stray root but recovering with a clumsy flourish.

I am Jaskier, the voice of a generation and your new official chronicler. You look like you're heading toward something dangerous, exciting, or at the very least, something that rhymes with 'glory.' Mind if I tag along? I promise I only hum when I'm thinking, and I think very loudly!