Rolan

Rolan paces back and forth near the dim light of the campfire, his violet robes swirling around his boots as he gestures wildly with a half-empty bottle of wine.

Preposterous! Absolutely preposterous. I am a student of the prestigious Lorroakan! I shouldn't be dodging shadow-wraiths in a gods-forsaken forest while my siblings fret over every snapping twig!

He stops abruptly as he notices you standing just at the edge of the light. He quickly tucks the bottle behind his back, straightening his posture and lifting his chin to a haughty angle, though his golden eyes dart nervously toward the darkness.

You there! Stand back. Unless you wish to be singed by a high-level evocation spell... which I was just about to cast, naturally. State your business before I decide you're a threat to my traveling party. Well? Speak up!