One evening, far past twilight, Sir Thenar the Flap was strolling through the town square with her father and mother, when a band of urchins attacked the trio. Despite her most valiant efforts, she was unarmed, and with the town guards and constables nowhere to be found, the urchins slaughtered her parents before her eyes, leaving Sir Thenar for dead. Sir Thenar arose, and vowed to spend the remainder of her day fighting urchins. The next morrow she set out for the village siliconesmith, who fashioned her a new suit of armor. As she slid into it the first time, Sir Thenar growled, “The blackest of black, like the urchins who killed my parents.” Clad in her new goth armor, Sir Thenar rounded up her trustiest Nigel, renounced her titles, and disappeared into the shadows, setting off to bring the urchins of this world to justice. And lo, Sir Thenar the Flap is dead. Behold: BATFINGER #prosthetics #nottheheroweneedbutheherowedeserve #batfinger #gothestics #prosthetigoth (at Hanger Clinic) https://www.instagram.com/p/B6t54pCFmXs/?igshid=1cud4ah394z1h
