<div class="floatright">(http://i1300.photobucket.com/albums/ag94/Autocad-E/43052a46-e56f-4271-a472-7d0ac0c91af8_zps5d053787.jpg)</div><strong>Nestor</strong>(http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=1120567)<br/><strong>Status:</strong>normal<br/><strong>HP:</strong>12/12<strong>AC:</strong>18 / touch 10 / ff 18<strong>Saves:</strong>Fort +3, Reflex +0, Will +3<strong>Init:</strong>+4<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The heavily armoured man from the north leaned against the pillar, a small book propped up in his hand. His features and garb instantly marked him as a man from the cool breezes of the north, but if he was feeling the heat of the desert, he did not show it. A large rectangular shield was set down by his feet, its surfaced emblazoned no heraldry but the emblem of the Dawnflower.<br/><br/>As the priestesss of Pharasma went on at length about the history of Wati, the man - Nestor was his name and his whole name, if the shield had not been a sufficient hint that he was a man who had left his past behind - continued to read from his text, making no sign of listening to her speech. An observant bystander might have been able to note the title of the otherwise unadorned cover and deduce it to be a holy book of Sarenrae. He continued reading as the other adventuring parties were called up one by one, stopping only when the name of his own group was called.<br/><br/>The clap of pages meeting, as he snapped the book shut, was audible in the silence that followed. He prepared to push himself off from the pillar he was leaning against, while his gaze flicked over each of the other members of his group in turn - the savage, the cat, the fanatic, and the fool. When Salimah began to step forward, Nestor nodded with a grunt that might be reasonably interpreted as approval and relaxed again, though his eyes followed her all the way up to the front to receive the scroll.<br/><br/>