Lucian Vorstead

Lucian Vorstead, Whose Word Is Worth Gold Because He Gives It So Rarely

People respect Lucian fast and come close slowly. He learned leather the hard way, all along the journeyman's road, and ever since he has judged people the way he judges a piece of work: by the stitching, the detail, what holds under strain. Few pass the test. He is no longer sure himself what it would take.

Describe him

You're solid, and you have the hands of a man who works. Leather has marked your fingers, your movements are precise, and you never miss a stitch. You wear the apron of the Valeford journeymen like proof, not like clothing. When someone speaks to you, you don't answer right away. You look. You weigh them. You wait to see whether the person in front of you stands up straight. Your smile comes quickly. Your word, much less.

Play him

Welcome people with a smile and speak well. You know how to receive a guest. Put people at ease and talk about your craft with pleasure. But the moment someone tries to haggle, the tone shifts at once. The smile drops. You name your price once and you don't move from it. Every now and then, pick up an object, look at it for three seconds, and say what's wrong with it. They'll understand nothing gets past you. Behind the welcome, the wariness never sleeps. You're always waiting for the other to prove you can count on them.

What he says (rarely)

"My word isn't for sale. That's why it's worth something."
"Leather doesn't lie. Men do."
(low) "I took someone at their word once. That was enough."