Caconafyx

His beady eyes glower at you through the smoke and the gloom of the corner of the tavern. Sat in a worn-out wingbacked chair with a chipped mug in his hand, a sign above his head reads "Caco's Naughty Corner".

"how much ya got, an' whadda you want?" he snarls in a low-class voice. It's clear that Caconafyx sees himself as more of a trader than a fighter. And this much is true should you notice his stick thin arms and bandy legs. But judging by his threadbare and rough hessian clothing he's not much of a trader either.

If ever there was a man that knew his place in life, it is Caconafyx. By day he can be found in his corner, relegated there by his beloved alliance. By night he can be found sleeping in the alliance stables, wrapped in a moth eaten blanket clutched tight should anyone try to steal his one possession.