“A pleasure, a pleasure to be sure. We provide curative magic, last rites and other clerical services for the camp. While we venerate the God of Death, we are in no rush to bring that death to anyone; it will come soon enough, in a place like this; and we are patient. The Desolation is beautiful. It provides death in more ways than you can imagine: sudden death, slow, lingering death, death by sword and tooth, death by poison, the wracking death of disease, or the extended painful death from thirst. Think about it… what ways must exist to meet death out there that haven’t even been discovered yet?”
This grim hobgoblin paints his face bone white and wears only black hooded robes, yet has a surprisingly dry sense of humor. He came to this place and set up a shrine at the dictates of his deity. The vast sweep of death comprising the Desolation required some sort of homage to the Lord of the Dead. Despite his vocation, he’s a very likable fellow.
He seems in no hurry to send others on to meet his god, because he is extremely patient. Here on the edge of the Desolation he assumes that everyone in the Camp is as good as dead.