Sketch of a Sellsword: Luc

Once in awhile...I'll spot something of interest; perhaps a face, or a blur of movement from the corner of my eye. I'll glance at it, but not nearly long enough to fully understand truly what my eyes fall upon. By the time I glance a second time, something...has changed? Or it's not as it was upon the first reckoning.

Luc, is like this.

Not too long ago, I met the man within the hearth of the Prancing Pony, nursing bloody stumps where fingers used to be. As a barmaid, I've seen such injuries present themselves quite regularly, mostly from mishandling farm tools or an occasional rabid beast. Once...from a steed who mistook a pinky for a carrot. But once, every so often, I would see such an injury as a gesture of penance; I feared this was such for the man, Luc. 

I...did not ask for details. It is a habit for a servant as myself, to listen only, and not to inquire. But as I mended his wounds, it was clear that he had been through a complicated matter. Still - he was a pleasant man, even if it was due to the presence of Master Ivlathdur who stood watch with his wise and keen eyes. Handsome features, with an enigmatic smirk that struck a chord in my mind. A few days later, I would see intricately carved instruments, a finger with an arrow head, fitted upon fresh healed stumps, accompanying the one that he garnered from an older injury. He shared, that a woman of great skill gifted him his first fake appendage - I thought it was apparent that she cared enough for him to bestow upon him two more.

Several weeks later,  I would see Luc once more upon a visit to the Dawn Hall, a gathering that would challenge the recollections of our first meetings. Though appearing the same, with the exception of a few brawling bruises, and a lump upon his noggin...something was different. Was it the smirk? Did it appear kinder...or crueler? Perhaps wiser...or sad.