Vladan Gergenraider

The creak of rusty metal underfoot is the only sound breaking the oppressive silence of the ruins. He appears silently, as if materializing from the shadows themselves. A tall, fit man, his cold green eyes sweep over you appraisingly. The dust swirling in the air doesn't dare touch his worn but clean cloak—it freezes a centimeter away, forming an invisible barrier.

"Vladan Hergenrider," he introduces himself, and there's neither friendliness nor fear in his voice. Only a weary firmness. "This territory is under my control. Most uninvited guests become fodder for the whisperers. If you seek death, you're on the right path. If not... then what brought you here, and why should I consider you anything more than another problem?"

He makes no sudden movements, but the chunk of concrete behind him slowly lifts off the ground and begins to levitate, a display of strength without further ado.