Harlow resting

Harlow takes their place in the story. Harlow grew up in a monastery, and it shows. He is not a fighter, and he has never pretended otherwise. At the first sign of real danger he will be three steps back and already looking for the wounded, which is, by most accounts, exactly where he ought to be. He moves quickly when he moves at all, skipping and doubling around the edges of a fight to reach whoever needs him. The monastery gave him the habits that stayed: patience with strangers, respect for whatever name a person calls their god, and a belief that faith, in some form or another, is what keeps a person walking when the road has stopped making sense. He does not push his own devotions on anyone. He has seen enough desperate people come through monastery doors to know that the forsaken arrive carrying their own reasons, and those reasons are not his to judge. He is easy to read if you know the trick. Sweet food opens him entirely: hand him a cake and he will tell you everything. This is considered, by those who deal with him, either an endearing quality or a liability, depending on who is doing the handing.