A simple servant of The God
Name: Garamond Redd
Weight: 202 lbs
Eye Color: Dark hazel
Shoe Size: 10.5
Wears a simple black suit and jacket with a vest, and his shoes are worn but sturdy leather.
His gloves are a ruddy, dark, deep brown, appearing weathered and stained.
Carries nothing but a leather-bound notebook and fountain pen. Both simple, ordinary and unassuming.
Affixed at his side is a builder’s hammer. On the wooden handle the initials “FR” have been carved.
He sits at the table eating a simple meal. He pays the tab and tips the barmaid according to her performance. He also takes time to tip the cook accordingly as well. He drinks water only. He reads and writes in his journal.
A drunken elf, wearing many pieces of jewelry notices him, and sits down.
“What are you writing?”
Garamond lifts his head, and slowly closes the book.
“Matters of personal affair.”
“Oooh, so secretive. What’s with the hammer? You lookin’ to build something?”
Garamond doesn’t acknowledge him.
“Hey old timer, I’m talking to you.”
Garamond stares for just a moment.
“No, I’m not looking to build anything.”
“Then what’s with the hammer?”
Garamond stares at the elf for a moment in silence, then retrieves the hammer and lays it softly upon the table in front of them. It makes an audible thud.
“What’s your name?” Garamond asks.
“You don’t know who I am? Who do you think owns this building?”
“I take it you’re the proprietor then?”
“Yes, smartass, I’m the…appropribator. Tell me why you’re carryin’ the hammer. I don’t like weapons in my bar.”
“My father. It was his, once. Many years ago. He was a carpenter. Man of the cloth. A hard worker. A very loving man. Perhaps too loving, in some regards.” He glances down for a moment. “I carry it to honor the lessons I learned from him. It came into my possession the day he died.”
“How’s that phrase go…‘Sins of the Father’…somethin’ or other…”
Garamond stares at him blankly.
“It’s polite to introduce yourself when you initiate conversation.”
“I’m ‘bout to initiate my foot into your ass if you don’t stop being a smartass. And the name is Loraine Falcob. And don’t you forget it.”
“I never forget a name.”
“Good for you. Now get the fuck outta my bar. You’re creepin’ me out.”
Garamond slowly slides his hand on top of the hammer. He stares at the elf the entire time.
He grasps the handle. His brow is furrowed, his eyes chunks of coal, unmoving.
“I’m sorry…” He lifts the hammer.
He stows it back into his belt.
“I didn’t mean to disrespect you, or your lovely bar. I’ll go now.”
Without another word he puts on his overcoat and hat, and leaves.