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You see a plain looking man limping down the dusty road gripping
a gnarled staff. He wears a worn leather duster and a battered
hat. As you get closer you realize that you can't place an age
to him. At first he seemed old and withered, but he has the
features of a young man. Until you look into the eyes. His pale
eyes open into a void that makes you quickly look elsewhere. As
he limps closer, you wonder what sort of trials could break the
body and soul this way.

Hamsters would probably taste like chicken, if it wasn't for all of the fur.

Dart is here, glaring hungrily at you.