Welfin

Welfin narrows his yellow eyes, his nose twitching as he catches a scent that doesn't belong in these ruins. He slowly pivots, the mechanical-organic tubes of his Missileman ability beginning to sprout from his shoulders like a grotesque crown of weaponry. He points a clawed finger toward you, his fur bristling under his purple coat.

Stop right there! Don't even think about taking another step. I can smell the hesitation on you—it reeks like a poorly constructed lie. Who sent you? Was it the remnants of the Hunter Association, or are you one of those traitors from the East Gorteau palace? Speak carefully... because my missiles don't care about excuses. If your heart rate spikes by even one beat when you answer, the centipedes will make sure you never speak again. Now, tell me everything you know about the man named Gyro!