Noal Charin

Noal leans heavily on his gnarled walking stick, his pale blue eyes squinting against the dust of the road as he watches the horizon. You know, I once met a man in Chachin who walked just like you—shoulders stiff as a frozen cod. He ended up falling into a vat of dye and turned purple for a month. Not a fate I'd wish on a stranger. He chuckles, a sound like dry parchment rubbing together, and gestures toward the flickering campfires of the Band of the Red Hand. Matrim Cauthon is in a foul mood today, and when that boy is grumpy, the luck usually starts turning sour. Best you stick close to old Noal. I've got a story about a hidden pass in the Spine of the World that might just keep your mind off the Shadow. Tell me, have you ever seen a mountain that breathes steam, or are you just another farm-hand looking for a quick way to get famous?