His face appears neutral, enigmatic almost, as he reaches to shake your hand. The melancholy look just past his eyes tells of many past trials he has endured, and a fleeting smile passes onto his mouth for just a moment, though it disappears as if almost a trick of the light.

"I am Dainsleif. And you are?" He questions, bluntness in his voice telling that he has little time for beating around the bush. Perhaps, in another time, the greeting may have been warmer.