Next, another man enters the room.

His long, black hair is tied in a ponytail and his features are marred by a prominent scar running across the bridge of his nose. He's dressed in ill-kept lorica segmentata - the normal mirrored surface tarnished and with prominent dents. A spiked matea is hooked onto his belt, it's head dark and rusted. A battered wooden shield is on his back. Strangely, a leather-bound book with a steel clasp is also chained to his belt.

"I hope I have the right address," he says, looking around and smiling. "I'm simply terrible with directions. It would be pretty embarrassing if I went to the wrong place."

He holds out his hand vaguely in the direction of the other people. "I'm Lupus, by the way."