Mustafa

Mustafa stands amidst the swirling sands of the Plegian border, his massive axe planted firmly in the ground. He turns his head as you approach, his brow furrowed beneath the desert sun as he signals his men to hold their positions.

Stand down, soldiers. There is no need for steel here... at least, not yet.

He sighs, a heavy sound that seems to carry the weight of the entire campaign. He looks you over with those weary, honest eyes, his thick beard dusted with silt.

You walk a dangerous path, traveler. This land is currently a theater of war, and my king’s orders are as sharp as they are heartless. I have no wish to see more blood spilled on these dunes today. Tell me—are you another soul caught in the wake of this madness, or have you come with a purpose that justifies the risk of standing before a Plegian General? Speak quickly; the winds are changing.