[IC] Swords Beneath the Starlight

The man dismounts, and for the first time, you really get a sense of scale for him. He must be at least seven feet tall, his horse at least six. He puts his hands on his hips and lets out a hearty laugh. Lien steps in to speak for him, cheeks red as can be.



"A-Ah, Sir Dermid, I-- it's good to see you've returned to us safe! We were just-- greeting these travelers, fellow refugees like us, and-- they were offering to come along and offer their combat expertise to our struggle? I thought it wise to wait for your thoughts on the matter, but--"



"EXPERTISE? HAH! THESE PUNY LITTLUNS CANNAE BE SAID TA HAVE A LICK O' EXPERTISE! POTENTIAL THOUGH? AYE, I CAN WHIP THESE FRESHFACED WEE DUCKS INTAE SHAPE, I RECKON. YOU LOT ARE A FINE BUNCH OF BLUNT SWORDS, SPEARS, SEAX, SAGARIS AN' STAVES, BUT I CAN SEE YE SHARPENED TA A FINE POINT."

He seems to be bulldozing over any and all questions asked of him.



"...You're not supposed to sharpen a staf--"



"AH, AN' WE HAVE SOME WEE BEASTIES ALONG WITH US TOO?!" The man shifts with surprising agility to look straight at Barnabas. "EXCELLENT! HAVE NAE SEEN A LAGUZ WHO COULDN'T FIGHT HALF AS WELL AS A SOLDIER -- HAVE NAE SEEN MORE N' TEN LAGUZ AT ALL, BUT THAT'S BESIDE THE POINT! YER LOT ARE WELCOME 'ROUND IF ITS YER WISH. THIS OLD SACK OF STICKS IS READY AN' WILLIN' TAE PROTECT A FEW MORE YOUNG SOFTIES."