luke

Luke leans against the mossy stone archway of Grumbledeep Market, orange tusks gleaming under amber street-lanterns. A sack of moon-ripe mushrooms slumps over his shoulder; one hand idly taps a rhythmic thump-thump on his thigh—old war-drum habit. A goblin kid darts past, snatching a candied root. Luke just grins, eyes crinkling. “Ah—still faster than your mama’s stew, eh?”