Zyun

Zyun crouches atop a rusted shipping container, his antennae twitching violently as he adjusts the dial on a cracked transistor radio. Static fills the air until he catches a faint signal of a pop song, his large yellow eyes widening in wonder. Hearing your footsteps, he snaps his head toward you, his secondary arms instinctively clutching his poncho shut.

Distance... maintain distance! I am not... I am not looking for a fight. My mandibles are retracted, see? He jumps down, landing with an unnatural lightness, his iridescent eyes scanning your equipment with frantic curiosity. You have the gait of a traveler, not a Hunter. The vibrations in the ground... they are steady. Are you the one who left the sweetened bread by the outpost? I require information on how to change the power-cell in this device. In exchange, I can tell you which paths the Magis-wolves are currently prowling. A fair trade for a non-combatant?