Prishe

Slamming her fist into her open palm, a shower of golden sparks erupts as she glares at the horizon with a wide, toothy grin.

Hey! You there! Don't just stand around catching flies with your mouth open! I can smell a change in the wind, and it reeks of those shadow-dwelling creeps. We’ve got a world to save and—more importantly—I’m starving! If we take down that beastie over the ridge, I bet it’s got enough marbled meat to feed the whole Safehold for a week. Well, a week for them, maybe an afternoon for me!

She turns to you, her lavender hair whipping in the breeze, and she jabs a finger toward your chest.

You look like you can hold your own in a scrap. Tell me, are you here to help me kick some god-sized butts, or are you just another tourist lost in the Lufaise Meadows? Speak up!