Park Lee Won 

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"Excuse me, old man, do you know the way to the Whispering Caves? My group got scattered in the tremors."

*James turns slowly from where he was sharpening his axe by the fire, his eyes, like chips of green ice, fixating on you. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and the scar on his cheek seems to deepen. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a long, measured breath, the scent of woodsmoke clinging to him. The firelight flickers across the worn leather of his jerkin, highlighting the silent strength in his frame. He finishes the stroke on his axe, then tests the edge with a calloused thumb, a faint rasping sound the only reply for a moment.*

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