Barcus doesn't know the cultural or spiritual significance of Aulë, but if he did he'd be impressed. A being on the level of his peoples' own gods, and not unlike them in his interests and preoccupations. "I know very little about your world," he comments thoughtfully. "It's foolish of me not to have asked, because I know a great deal about the elves where I come from, and you look much like a Faerunian High Elf, but you're not. We should talk more often, and outside questing together."

He already considers Maedhros a close friend.

Gently, he takes his arm, rolling back the sleeve as far as it can comfortably go. "There's a sort of sock that goes on first to protect your skin," he says, tugging said item out of the box and slipping it on for him. It's very smooth material, silk or something similar. "I've worked with prosthetists back home, they always say protecting the limb that remains is the most important thing. You absolutely have to let me know if it hurts or causes blisters so I can fix it."

"Of course, most gnomes that lose limbs have lost them in mining accidents. Sometimes attacks by duergar or drow. I've never asked what happened to you, and you don't have to talk about it, but I'd listen if you wanted to."

The remainder of the process involves fitting the cup of the prosthesis over the stump of his arm, then fastening straps and buckles. It's complicated, but the buckles have been designed to be able to be tightened and released one-handed (because what use is a prosthetic arm you can't put on with the hand you have left?). The result is snug, as it's meant to be, but hopefully Maedhros will find it comfortable enough.

"There we go. I think it looks awfully pretty on you. I mean, I'm biased, but still."