With a temporary stop of the heavy footsteps travailing up the hill, Nodin looks out into the depth of the horizon. His golden blonde hair and loosely wrapped hakama trousers now appear more unkempt than it already is due to the wind.

His shoulder sling resonates friction against his hairy back as he takes another step forward. With a low exhale, the meat kabob he ate recently still lingers on his breath. He scratches his beard with one hand, and wipes the dirt under his nails with the other.

Then, Nodin’s yellow eyes glance another direction—two of his three eyes total, the third eye on his forehead still remaining shut. Standing not too far away is figure below the steep hill that Nodin is traversing. Narrowing his glare, Nodin wonders of this figures association—considering the circumstances that he’s wanted for terrorism and war crimes. Whether this figure is with the Cortegear-Soulgear Unionized Stratocracy, or the preferred: he or she is of different affiliations if any, is not of weight-bearing concern, as Nodin will remain steadfast to his own resolution to rid any distractions of his venture. Nodin grabs the spear strapped to his back and hold it high to signal this figure below him of his presence. His face nonchalant while still hinting superiority.