[Caerydd]

There was indeed a common fisherman. His father had been a fisherman, his grandfather. Their fishwives would carp on about how it was in their blood, for ever since a Lubbock boy could walk, he would be put to work mending nets, gutting fish, and any other job that would stand him in good stead when his father finally hung up his galoshes and his hat, and passed the fishing boat over to him. There were scores of lads like Ned Lubbock along the shores of this particular in land sea; fresh water fish and shellfish were something of a specialty in Lauryllian cooking.

A human, he was. No elfish blood at all. A weak jawline, crooked teeth, but kind blue eyes and a head of raven black hair. Ned was not a looker, but he wasn't ugly. His young wife, Bessie, said he had a brooding air about him that added a little mystery to him. She could be lying of course, he was someone to brood at all. He was always too busy; mending nets, mending the boats, gutting the days catch ready for the days market later on. His skin was weatherbeaten and leathery, and as Manyc approached, he has happily whistling a tune as his clever hands set about cleaning the afore mentioned fish guts out of a wooden bucket.