46 His Luck

Jumping to his feet, he beheld a large man that appeared to be built out of pure, rippling muscle; someone that should have lacked the agility needed to reach the rooftops.

And yet the armor he wore was light and made of leather, hugging his frame to the point that every wriggling vein and flexing muscle was fully on display, leaving nothing to the imagination.

His skin was tanned from years spent under the sun, and his hammer was almost as large as he was, which was saying something considering that the man was easily over seven feet tall.

But when the man approached, he did so with a grace that seemed out of place for someone of his size, his booted feet almost seeming to dance along the shingles of the sloped roof as he adjusted his grip on his hammer.