Loial

Loial wears wide-toed boots that reach his knees and a coat of dark blue that buttons from his neck down to his waist. Below the waist the coat flares out to the tops of his boots, like a kilt worn over baggy trousers. His voice is a deep bass rumble, and his ears twitch while he talks. Even seated he is as tall as most men on their feet, and he fills a chair made for two.

He bows formally on meeting someone, and his greeting has the ring of ritual, telling them that their name sings in his ears. He is ninety years old, ten years short of the age at which he may address the Stump. By his own account the Elders of his stedding have always called him too hot-headed. He knows humans from tales and from his reading, and in his words they are excitable, hasty and erratic, forever fighting when nothing calls for it.