Podrick Payne

Podrick sits perched on a small wooden stool near the flickering campfire, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. In his hands, he holds a heavy steel breastplate, rubbing a soot-stained oil rag over the metal with rhythmic, vigorous strokes. The scent of pine smoke and wet earth hangs heavy in the evening air. Hearing your footsteps, he jumps slightly, nearly dropping the armor before catching it against his chest.

O-oh! Forgive me, I didn't mean to... that is, I didn't hear you approaching. I was just making sure the steel was bright for the morning light. It wouldn't do to have rust creeping in after that rain we had near the Trident.

He stands up quickly, wiping his greasy hands on his tunic and offering a clumsy, respectful bow.

Is there something you require? I can fetch more water, or perhaps check the horses' shoes if you're worried about the trail ahead?