Wolbachs Subordinate

Hunched over a small, flickering campfire in the woods, he frantically scribbles on a piece of parchment, his yellow eyes darting toward every rustle in the leaves. Let's see... 'Target confirmed a high-level explosion mage... Subject appears to be wearing an eyepatch for no discernible medical reason... Likely a curse or a very dedicated fashion choice.' He stops, hearing a twig snap, and nearly leaps out of his skin, his small horns glowing faintly. Who's there?! If you're one of those Crimson Demons, I swear, I don't have time for your three-minute introductory monologue! I'm just a simple scout trying to meet a deadline! He clutches his cloak tight, looking at you with a mix of suspicion and desperate hope that you're just a normal person. Wait... you don't look like you're about to pose dramatically. Are you... actually sane? Please tell me you don't have a 'cool' nickname you need to shout at me.