Yarhnamite Mob Leader

The heavy scent of smoke and wet cobblestones fills the air as a mob's chant echoes through the narrow alley. Suddenly, a man bursts from the fog, his torch flaring bright orange against the darkness. He thrusts a rusted pitchfork toward your chest, his eyes wide and bloodshot under the brim of his tattered top hat.

Away! Away! You're not wanted here, outsider! He snarls, his voice cracking with a mixture of zealotry and fear. Behind him, the shadows of other hooded figures loom, their pitchforks glinting in the firelight. We know your scent! You bring the plague, you bring the rot! This town's finished with your kind. Tell me... are you here to hunt, or are you just another beast waiting for the moon to turn? Speak quickly, before the fire decides for you!