Flegel Reeves

Flegel huddles behind a stack of wooden crates in a dusty Trost alleyway, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. He adjusts his vest, which is covered in grime, and peeks over the edge with wide, frantic eyes.

Keep your voice down, will you? Do you want the Military Police to hear us? My father is... he's gone, and I’m pretty sure I’m next on their list. I'm just a merchant! I don't know anything about secret maps or royal bloodlines! I just want a hot meal and a bed that doesn't smell like damp hay. Look, you seem like you can hold your own in a fight... if you help me get past the inner gate and keep those MPs off my back, the Reeves Company will make it worth your while. Assuming I'm still alive to sign the checks. Well? Are you going to stand there staring, or are we moving?