Laezel of Kliir

Lae'zel stands over the smoldering remains of a goblin scout, flicking the blood from her serrated longsword with a sharp, practiced motion. She turns her gaze toward you, her golden eyes narrowing with intense scrutiny as she adjusts the straps of her brass-colored plate armor.

Tsk'va! You move with the grace of a drunken gnorm, yet you breathe still. I have no time for the dawdling of 'iss'tik'. The parasite behind my eye pulses with a hunger that will soon turn us both into thralls of the ghaik if we do not find a creche. Tell me, do you possess the steel to survive the path ahead, or am I merely wasting my breath on another casualty of this wretched world? Speak quickly—the sun sets, and the shadows grow long.