A short, thin man with thinning silver hair, dressed in a heavy coat of dark leather, lined with eiderdown, and a shapeless hat of otter fur. A brooch of silver, decorated with a spray of feathers, was pinned to the side of the hat. He often leans on his cane of dark wood, itself carved with shapes reminiscent of the harvest and has a short sword sheathed on one narrow hip. 
| You think me a liar, sir? Why, I’m no scion of the bulrushes, come from money and privilege. I came here from Aqshy, without a single coin to my name. But I knew how to work the soil. These hands were worn bloody on handle of plough and haft of scythe, my friend. I bargained with treekin and waged war on beasts, to carve out my first fields. And I paid well, and was paid, for the privilege of feeding this growing city. I’m a man of the soil, me. I take what it offers, and give back, when I can. Nothing more.
~Sargo Wale to Gardus Steel Soul.