Mokar looks like someone you could pass on a road and recognize again only because he has already made room for you. He stands with his feet planted a little too wide, as if bracing for a gust, and has a habit of tracking doorways, windows, and the faces nearest them in a slow, practical sweep. His movements are unhurried until someone stumbles, when he is suddenly there with a hand out. His most unexpected detail is the neat little folding of his blanket and spare shirt into a square parcel, tied with a bright yellow ribbon he salvaged from a festival stall. He carries himself with earnest readiness, leaving the impression of a person who has decided to be useful before he has decided what he is good at.

Mokar is eager to help but uncomfortable being the center of attention. He can be stubborn about doing the right thing, yet hesitates when asked to describe what he is good at. Around frightened villagers he becomes calm and practical; among experienced adventurers he grows self-conscious and talks too much. He admires boldness, but trusts people who do the small, necessary jobs.

Mokar grew up in the farming hamlet of Reedford, where his older brother, Sava, managed their late parents' small plot and expected Mokar to stay put and help. Mokar was capable but never outstanding: a fair hand with a hoe, a middling runner, a tolerable cook, and a dependable extra pair of arms. When he found goblin tracks crossing the barley field, he warned the village. The elders dismissed them as fox prints, and Sava told him not to stir up trouble. Mokar left anyway, carrying a heel of bread and a borrowed coat, and walked to the nearest city. There he persuaded a band of adventurers to investigate. They returned with him, drove the goblins away, and saved Reedford before the next raid. Seeing people act when it mattered changed the direction of his life. Sava, furious that Mokar had abandoned the farm and made the village look foolish, turned him out when he came back. Mokar remembers the heroes' names and the way they checked the barns after the fight, not just the way they swung their weapons. He now travels from job to job, taking escort work and odd errands while practicing with a staff. He still sends a portion of his earnings home, though the letters go unanswered. His immediate trouble is a string of unpaid lodging costs and a promise to escort a medicine cart through a stretch of road where bandits have been seen.