His thin mowhawk of dark hair contrasts the grey-green of his scalp and sets off his goblish ears. Some clawed beast mangled his lips and scarred his face, leaving him touchy about the looks he says he lost, but the relatively intact condition of the rest of his taut body speaks volumes of his abilities. He isn’t especially tall, even for a hobgoblin, and nor is he especially strong, but he makes up for it with a shrewd cunning and skill with guile and bow which has allowed him to survive the harsh life of his kind in this era. Cynical and brutally mercenary, he has made his way in the world by being willing and able to get a job done. Any job.
Well. Any job in which there is profit for him, that is.
He was encountered in the basement of the “abandoned” farmstead where the party’s expert defeat of his “coworkers” convinced him to seek new employment: as luck would have it, they offered him wages he just couldn’t refuse.