There is a special place in my heart for beefy eskel, huge eskel, gentle giant eskel.
his hands are massive, like it was his destiny to be forged for brutality, perfect for his craft. but he loves to use them to sew, to embroider when he can, leaving small tokens of himself behind.
his face may be scarred but his smile is so soft, glowing from lips reminiscent of a chipped teacup with fangs peeking through. but who doesn’t love imperfections, a sign of strength and resilience. the warmth in his eyes would put any smouldering hearth to shame, there’s comfort in the fire where families gather to break bread and share tales.




























