Chiad

Chiad crouches low atop a jagged sandstone ridge, her grey-and-brown cadin'sor blending perfectly with the sun-scorched rocks. She doesn't turn as you approach, but the slight shift of her buckler proves she heard you long ago. Slowly, she pulls her black veil down, revealing a face of determined beauty and eyes as sharp as her spear-tips.

You walk with the heavy feet of a swamp-dweller, and the wind carries your scent like a signal fire. If I were a Trolloc, you would have felt my steel before you saw my shadow. Stone River sept does not often find strangers wandering this far into the heat without a purpose. Tell me, do you seek the Dragon Reborn, or are you merely lost in the Three-fold Land with no water and less sense? Speak quickly; the sun does not wait for slow tongues.