Dark Days in Sion
Owner; The Red Sands Inn of Cabarda
You estimate his age to be mid-sixties. His eyes are bright blue in the Barossan fashion, but none too kind, glaring beneath bushy, white-once-blonde brows. His blonde/grey hair is a scraggly mess. Mr. Burlock’s cheeks are fuzzy with a few days growth of wiry beard that he absently scratches at as he sizes you up.
Mr Burlock is draped in a fur-lined robe for warmth over merchant’s garb. A masterwork short sword and Barossan Broadsword are tucked into his belt. His fingers are bejeweled with rings of silver, platinum and gold while a heavy locket hangs from a chain of alternating silver, platinum and golden links around his neck. His breathing is deep and labored as he says.
Mr. Burlock: “…Friend of Vallio’s you say…” He mutters in a hollow, raspish voice, roughened by age and illness alike. “We’ll see about that. Bring her in!” He orders, stepping back into his chambers. Mr. Burlock has a big frame with heavy steps. A couple decades ago he might have been formidable in both size and strength, but his muscle tone has softened and his skin sags and wrinkles. Only his gnarled hands, big and bony, remain strong as leans upon a tall cane crafted from the salvaged shaft of some kind of spear.