Handy walked forward, his ramshackle robes of cloth torn and bloodied, his face dirtied and pale from where the dust stuck to his skin and discoloured his hair. In one hand was the hammer that might as well be a part of him. It seemed to be crackling with energy. In the other he held a cumbersome crossbow, looted from some unfortunate changeling. Its grip was obviously ill-suited for his hands.