If Ragstol has a flaw, it is that he is too trusting and
unwilling to take charge in a situation. In a bargaining
situation he is second to none, but in the day-to-day
administration of the outpost, he leaves much to his son
and his garrison commander. Some of his subordinates
enjoy the autonomy and work all the harder, others take
advantage of the opportunity to shirk their responsibilities.
Some wonder whether this is Ragstol's management style
or simply lack of management. Thus far, his trust has
been well placed in his son, and at least not a disaster in
his garrison commander, but many worry that it is only a
matter of time before a crisis arises. At that time, all will
know whether Ragstol's command abilities have weakened
with age.
Ragstol Wavir is the 42-year-old leader
of Outpost 13. He is tall, topping 6½' in height, with
curly, light-brown hair and a long, almost sad face. His
limbs are long and thin, and his skin is burned a deep
brown.
Ragstol was a caravan master for many years, until
his caravan became lost in a siltstorm in the trackless
wastes south of Balic. He was knocked unconscious by a
panicking crodlu as he attempted to wrap its head with a
wet cloth. He was nearly buried in silt before one of his
staff wandered near.
Unfortunately, the long exposure to the silt has ruined
his health. He is prone to coughing fits, and has lost
much of the vigor that characterized his early years.
Although he is physically not what he once was, his mind and his trading skills are as sharp as ever. He
has spent much of his time counseling Fyra and trying to
convince the ex-slaves of Salt View to give up raiding. He
believes that he is making progress with the group and
does not want to leave until he feels the area is secure for
free trade. Thus, Ragstol has turned down several offers by House
Wavir to return him to Balic. Despite his age, he insists
on remaining in the field. aiding Salt View and improving
Outpost 19. His talents are valued highly enough that
his eccentric insistence on being allowed his own way is
tolerated by the merchants at the house, but none can say
how long the sickly man can continue this pace.