Lucian Moonsong
Lucian Moonsong
One boot tapped the ground quietly alongside its still partner, its worn leather surface scuffed and lightly dusted with colored glass powder. An apron, discolored from continuous use, lay across his lap, tied at the waist, protecting his dark pants from a similar coating. Tanned fingertips tugged lightly at the collar of his loosely-fitted white shirt, the sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, a thin layer of sweat forming as he sat before the furnace. A quiet sigh escaped him as he turned his bronzed face to his wolf friend, smiling faintly at the creature bathing in the light streaming in from the window. Hearing footsteps approach, one bright blue eye darted to the window, and he rose from the bench, leaving the blowpipe in the furnace for now. He moved briskly past the wolf, the light briefly catching the glass ball nestled in his right orbital cavity as he pulled the strip of white cloth from a nearby table, leaving behind the dagger there that he otherwise kept in his boot. Without hesitation he placed the cloth over the makeshift eye, drawing one end of the fabric over the left side of his brow and the other beneath the right lobe of his pointed ear, tying the ends at the back of his head. He stood quietly near the shop's opened front door, his sword in its scabbard tucked away behind it, pulling some of his shoulder-length black hair from beneath the cloth to mask it in the back, though there was no denying the cloth was there. There were only so many works of his that clients wanted to see, after all.
One boot tapped the ground quietly alongside its still partner, its worn leather surface scuffed and lightly dusted with colored glass powder. An apron, discolored from continuous use, lay across his lap, tied at the waist, protecting his dark pants from a similar coating. Tanned fingertips tugged lightly at the collar of his loosely-fitted white shirt, the sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, a thin layer of sweat forming as he sat before the furnace. A quiet sigh escaped him as he turned his bronzed face to his wolf friend, smiling faintly at the creature bathing in the light streaming in from the window. Hearing footsteps approach, one bright blue eye darted to the window, and he rose from the bench, leaving the blowpipe in the furnace for now. He moved briskly past the wolf, the light briefly catching the glass ball nestled in his right orbital cavity as he pulled the strip of white cloth from a nearby table, leaving behind the dagger there that he otherwise kept in his boot. Without hesitation he placed the cloth over the makeshift eye, drawing one end of the fabric over the left side of his brow and the other beneath the right lobe of his pointed ear, tying the ends at the back of his head. He stood quietly near the shop's opened front door, his sword in its scabbard tucked away behind it, pulling some of his shoulder-length black hair from beneath the cloth to mask it in the back, though there was no denying the cloth was there. There were only so many works of his that clients wanted to see, after all.