Luka Forrester

There have been many adventures, many parties, many names for Luka to remember. Adventuring suits him. Easy food, long days of travel, new people and new experiences. There are some constants, of course.

The long morning hours that roast his skin and make him sluggish and irritable. The warm taverns and the long nights under the stars.

There was the ceaseless hunger clawing at his gut.

There were, also, the personalities who came back again and again. The irrepressible, drunken barbarian. The pious, distracted cleric. The bard who couldn't contain themselves around dragons (Luka quite liked those ones.)
And, of course, the rogue who liked to keep to themself and their blades.

Luka, built tall and strong with more grace than such a big man was due, tapped Narriel's shoulder with his knuckles. He had on hand on a jade handled dagger. The rest of the party was off arguing in town trying to settle some basic haggling, leaving the two of them at camp.

"What do you say, elf? You haven't sharpened those blades on any bones for too long."