Going purely by Blight’s childhood memories: a tall, thin man with long blonde hair. Cynical sense of humor. Didn’t smile. Never actually gave Blight a name. From day one, he referred to the kid as his “own personal little blight” sent by the gods as an inconvenience. It just shortened with time. Blight always thought it was funny and he remembers Yarwin saying it with the barest hint of a smile at the edge of his lips. He was distant and stern, but never physically hurt Blight on purpose. He’d drag him by the arm or even an ear when he misbehaved, but never beat him.

Yarwin kept Blight locked away inside his personal chambers when he was an infant, but when he could walk and talk reasonably well, Yarwin sent him into the alley. He put him in a sturdy crate laying on its side, raised a few inches off the cobblestone by bricks, and covered by a thick waterproof blanket next to his chamber door. At least, Blight thinks that’s where his chamber door opened out? It could’ve been the back room, but he’s reasonably sure Yarwin slept there.

Blight can remember getting hurt and being cuddled in Yarwin’s lap. He remembers Yarwin wiping away his tears with a gentle sweep of his thumb more than once. He knows Yarwin used to blow in his ears when he wasn’t looking and the amusement in his eyes when Blight flicked his ears in annoyance.

But he seemed annoyed much of the time, sighing dramatically whenever Blight needed even the slightest thing, acting like it was a huge bother. When he was little, Blight didn’t know if that was supposed to be one of Yarwin’s jokes or not. He was so stoic sometimes that it was hard to tell.

The last time Blight saw him, his face was the same as it always was; unfazed, as if selling a child was the most normal thing in the world.