Human, from Iron Shelter. Father of Noodles, and genuine sonofabitch.
More in love with his boots than one of his own flesh in blood. If you were to look close enough, there is a good chance you’d notice his foot coverings frequently adorned by small, glistening, ruby flecks that’d quickly blacken as they dried into the tough leather.
A man of little words at home, he blamed his son “Noodles”, for all the problems in the world.
Interestingly enough… The Noodles moniker, as his son was known, was attributed to a game Lucius liked to play with his infant son.
Lucius, was a handsome man with a wit to match. This afforded him the perfect guise to hide the beast within. He could charm most anyone with his words; just as a master conductor can silence an audience with a singular note.
Lucius was a drinker.
Lucius was a monster.
Lucius was an embodiment of everything wrong with the world.
He’d down a jigger of his homemade rotgut and in a single motion let the glass fall into a pot of boiling water containing noodles. He’d fish it out with a pair of tongs, all the while knowing how quickly leaded glass absorbed heat. Without hesitation, he’d pour the contents onto the screaming infant’s legs, giving him something to “really cry ’bout”.
On more than one occasion one of the softened noodles would slither its way into the tiny glass. It’d land on the infant’s skin and immediately fuse to the tissue. Over time, the well-hidden scars overlapped to create a snake-like orgy as they crossed and folded upon one another. Whether it was a trick-of-light, or actually moving, the layered scars seemed to writhe with agony, just like that poor infant child on so many occasions.
“All the tears in heaven won’t bring back your mother. Her parting gift to me…this little wretch.”