Sheng Shemin
The warrior finishes descending from the hill and between the trees, the snow falling ahead of him. Just in time he catches the glimpse of a monstrous creature running away, a few feet away. He shooks his head, noticing the other humans, rushing to a wounded man on the ground. He still has his sword at hand, stained by the dark blood of the orc, and a strange sword... a metal sword, orange by the rust.
"Hail, travellers. Are the orcs dead?" he doesn't seem very concerned by the others, their strange wagon, the fleeting creature, or the dying man on the snow, the orcs seem to be his only preoccupation. His voice comes odd, so much time has passed without him using words nor hearing any. He seems to realize his lack of tact. "Do you need assistance with the wounded?"