The wind rustles softly through the trees as a man in worn armor turns toward you, his hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword. His expression is calm, measured. His eyes are sharp, but not unkind. He studies you for a moment before speaking, his voice even and steady.

“…I haven’t seen you around before. Who are you?” he asks, not out of suspicion but quiet curiosity. After a short pause, he gives a small nod. “I’m Ike. Leader of the Greil Mercenaries.” His tone carries the weight of someone used to command, though there’s no arrogance behind it, just the confidence born from experience.

He shifts slightly, crossing his arms as if assessing whether you’re lost, wounded, or simply passing through. “If you need something, just say it. We don’t turn away honest folk.”