Huangar

Twenty-four feet of solid muscled meat stands before you, arms
crossed and waiting. He peers around himself with silver eyes over
a hawklike nose and rock-hard, chiseled features. His square chin
juts outward, veins just waiting to burst through his tight skin.
He scratches his bald pate, trying to remember what he was doing
and then smiles, nodding, over a scraggly long dark-brown beard.
Huangar pulls a large book out of his breaches and opens it. Little
pictures pop up, demonstrating the Laws of Thera. He coos at the
pictures and nods, understanding.