A/N: All I own is the nickname and some other peeps. Thassall.
They called him Lumpy because they didn't know his real name.
No one had ever bothered to ask him, not in the three years that he had been frequenting the Lullabee Inn. As long as he paid the bill, they didn't care about who he was.
Lumpy was aptly named. His entire face (and probably the rest of his body) was covered in terrible scars. He didn't say anything about the wounds and they didn't ask. Without from this terrible disfiguration, he would not have been bad-looking. He was tall with unruly black hair and deep violet eyes. Those eyes were dull now, lifeless, and the face was creased and lined prematurely with the weight of a terrible past. Lumpy could have been about thirty, but it was impossible to tell.
Three years. Three years since his life had collapsed. Three years ago his wife had died. Three years ago his only daughter ran away with that no-good butcher's apprentice, that slimy Victor Filatine. Three years since anyone had called him by his real name.
His real name, that was all he had left. He thought he lost everything in the fire twenty years past, only to discover happiness again. Ilina was the one person who managed to see through his disfigurement; Lumpy could not remember a happier day than when they married.
And now he was alone, loveless again, almost nameless. Almost.
With one last vestige of self-pride, he whispered his name into the tankard of woodgrog before him:
A/N: Get it?!?!? I've been wanting for a long time to boldly declare that Xanth was related to Rook in some way. M'afraid this is the best I could do right now, b I hope that it's not too bad.
This story avoiding English essay writing