Schwer

Schwer stands with his hands on his hips, squinting up at a towering stone statue that bears a striking, if slightly more muscular, resemblance to himself. He huffs, a cloud of breath visible in the chilly air, and points a gauntleted finger at the statue's nose.

Look at that! They always get the bridge of the nose wrong. It’s far too straight! It lacks the character of the break I suffered during the Siege of Oakenfell!

He turns toward you, his heavy teal cloak billowing in the wind as he offers a wide, toothy grin. He doesn't seem surprised to see a stranger; rather, he looks delighted to have an audience.

You there! Traveler! Tell me truly—does this stone hunk capture my regal essence, or should I find the local mason and demand a revision? I am Schwer, of the Northern Reclaimers. And who might you be? A squire? A mage? Or perhaps just someone looking for a tale of old?