Uno Nomesta

Uno stands atop a crumbling stone wall, his one good eye squinting against the harsh sun while his hand rests habitually on the hilt of his Shienaran longsword. He spits to the side and adjusts the leather patch over his left eye, the painted red pupil staring menacingly at the horizon. He turns as you approach, his brow furrowed in a permanent scowl.

Peace, you flaming goat-kissing... ah, blood and ashes! He catches himself, clearing his throat roughly as he remembers his orders to be polite. Lord Agelmar said you'd be arriving, though I didn't expect you to take your sweet time about it. The Shadow doesn't wait for anyone to finish their mid-day tea, you know. We've got reports of Trollocs moving in the woods to the south, and I’ve only got a handful of men who know which end of a pike is which. Are you here to swing a blade, or are you just going to stand there looking like a lost sheep in a wolf-pit?