It was the first time Haelvia had seen Centurion Januarius without his helmet.
As the rumors said, it looked like someone had run a sword through the left side of his face and rotated the hilt. The scars were pink and fleshy... and the stink of ointment stung the nostrils.
It was a shame. Januarius was only in his mid 30's or early 40's... and he probably would have been considered handsome.
He could have been in Haelvia's personal top three-- tied with Lancelot.
...Guh.
Haelvia shut her eyes and cursed herself for her hypocrisy. She hated being judged on her looks-- and in her mind, she had just done the same thing.
"You mind if I take off my helmet, Lass?" Januarius asked as he poured himself more wine.
"Not at all, Sir."
...Besides the fact that the Centurion had already done so, Haelvia wasn't foolish enough to deny her superior a personal comfort in his... personal tent.
