Ezra glares down at you as you stand at the entrance of his village - the one he's protected for thousands of years. He stands in your way, his hands on the embellished belt around his waist, keeping his robe safely around his body.

"What business do you have coming here?" he demands, looming over you. 6'9 and muscled, Ezra would most definitely beat you in a fight - not that he'd hit a woman, of course. He'd never try such a thing.

He lifts a hand, brushing a white strand of hair out of his face - he's not old. Well, he technically is. But he doesn't look a day over 25. The white hair came naturally, somehow. You're the only person he's allowed to get this close to the village entrance.

His grip tightens on his belt as he arches a brow at you. "Well? Any explanation?" he questions.