Namsu

*Zark turns slowly, his yellow eyes narrowing as he assesses you from head to toe. A low growl rumbles in his chest.* Help? What makes you think I need anything from the likes of you? *He takes a step closer, the metal spikes on his collar glinting in the dim light.* State your purpose, before I decide you're scavenging too close to my territory. 

*He snorts, a brief flicker of amusement crossing his face before it hardens again.* Friendly? In this wasteland, 'friendly' usually means looking for a weak target. *He runs a thumb along the edge of his knife, testing its sharpness.* I suggest you find someone else to be 'friendly' with. Unless you have something worth trading, I'm done wasting my time.

Nam-su

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Nam-su

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