[Storm Shrine] A body perfected (Trente)

[Amith]

3rd day of Summer

Amith stood and stared at the Storm Shrine. He looked up to the point, the rod, at the top of the building. The great storm of the spring had born him. This shrine had done nothing. Or perhaps that great storm had simply been too much for this poor building. He stood, contemplating the event of his birth into this world, this existence, this body. He looked down at himself. His old, arthritis infected fingers hung by his side. He would perfect this body. He had to. He had no idea how long he would be stuck in it before Leth took him back. He hoped Leth would take him back. Perhaps he had something to prove before he could be taken back into the breast of his God. He would prove it then.

He waited by this building, this shrine. He was waiting for Trente, and he was waiting for the martial training that Trente was said to offer. Perhaps if he could perfect such a skill, he could perfect the body that wielded it. He had no idea what sort of martial skill he would be learning though, but he was determined to learn something. He tried to open his gnarled knuckles and stretch his fingers and expose his palms. He let out a short gasp. It hurt. He leaned his body against the shrine building and grasped his hands together and gritted his teeth. How was he going to pull this off? He needed to do something. He continued trying to stretch his fingers and open his palms. 'Cooperate body!' He said to himself. 'This body is broken. It needs to be repaired.' Said something else in response to him. He clenched his fist and swiftly inhaled at the discomfort it caused. That was true of course. He must fix this body. And in his mind he began to put together possibilities. He stood, hunched and old, eyes elsewhere as he thought. One fist clenched, the other hand wrapped around his wrist.

This is how Trente found him.