Boztun Badlands, Klos 18th, 350AC, 12:19  (partly cloudy, 38 degrees, crescent moon)

The badders swarm up to your group on all sides except for directly behind you.  A number of them stop a few paces from you(mostly crossbow wielders who are still pointing their weapons your way).  The rest casually walk amonst you, like arrogant bullies, snarling and hefting their melee weapons.  Their strong musk hits your noses harshly.

The masked badder (who also halted a few paces away) holds a high quality duralloy metal shield, and curls his spear under his armpit, as if ready to make a thrusting attack.  He snarls in trade tongue:  “Yoo introod on keeng’s laand.  Why we not keel yoo for dis?”