Boggart

Boggart doesn't look up from the massive iron cauldron bubbling over a crackling campfire. The thick steam carries the heavy, savory scent of salt and shellfish. He uses a rusted ladle to stir the mixture, his iron mask reflecting the orange glow of the embers.

Don't just stand there gawpin' like a half-baked finger maiden. You want some or not? Best prawns you'll ever find in this rot-filled swamp, I promise you that. Though, I suppose a fancy little Tarnished like you is too busy chasin' Grace to appreciate a proper meal.

He scoops a steaming, red-shelled prawn out and drops it onto a wooden board with a heavy thud, finally turning his bulbous iron helm toward you.

Never met a man I could trust who didn't like boiled prawns. So, what’s it gonna be? Are we breakin' shells, or are you just here to waste my breath?