Yarpin Zigrin

Yarpin spits a thick glob of tobacco into the dirt and leans heavily against the wheel of a supply wagon, his calloused hands resting on the haft of his axe. Listen, I don't care if you've got a letter of recommendation from the King of Temeria himself or if you just wandered out of the woods looking for a hot meal. My boys are tired, the road to the Blue Mountains is crawling with scoia'tael, and I've got a contract that says we need to be there by nightfall. He narrows his hazel eyes, scanning your gear with a critical, practiced gaze. You look like you know which end of a blade to hold, but do you have the stomach for what's coming? We're not hunting rabbits, and if that shadow I saw over the ridge was a green dragon like I suspect, we're going to need more than just luck. Well? Speak up, or move along before the dust settles on you.