A Sliver of an (Introduction)

[Sliver]

73rd Day of Spring, 512 A.V. It was warm out, or at the very least, warmer than Sliver had been led to believe the area leading up to Avanthal would be. For some reason she had hoped the storms wouldn't have reached this far, that the Everwinter city she had heard so much about, would have been isolated from the spring chaos. The ground squelched under her feet as she traversed the plains barely speckled with white towards her destination, and she hoped the cold might set in as she went further, living up to its name. She brushed her hand over her Mohawk, the hair jumping back into position after being pressed down. The Kelvic wore loose fitting clothing, leather strips tied around sections of her body, giving her the appearance of a mountain dweller. Her look was enhanced by the black tribal tattoos that adorned her scalp and arms, which were exposed because of the temperature. Sliver’s journey here had been rather uneventful, she had gotten into a couple scrapes, but had taken precautions to avoid any real danger, giving wide berth to any evidence of wolf packs, or large animals in general. Despite that, she was walking with a slight limp due to a gash on her leg that she had received when fighting a singular timber wolf a week prior. It had taken a nice chunk out before she had managed to use her canvas tent to smother the creature. It was underfed, which had led to its desperation, but also how easily she was able to kill it, and she did not like to think about any well provisioned predator(s) seeking her out here in the wilds. Sliver wasn’t too worried though, for thankfully she had already seen dire polar bear tracks that signaled the wider scouting of the Icewatch of Avanthal, and knew the further she went from here, the less chance there was of encountering any real threat. Of course the Kelvic wouldn’t let her guard down for a moment, giant bears roaming the tundra wasn’t exactly the most comforting thought to an animal an eighth their size. And this thought invariably led to the other: What did she hope to offer the Ice Queen of Avanthal? A five year old Kelvic without a bondmate, therefore without purpose, intentionally seeking out one of the most inhospitable regions of Mizahar to offer herself up to a woman, no a goddess, who had an army of giant gods-be-damned bears. The crunching of her feet in the snow became louder, footsteps heavier as she stomped forward. This thought had been bothering her for a while now, and the more she thought about it, the greater a rift it created in her mind. Everything she heard about Morwen sang her praises, for someone who brought such chilling colds, it seemed her heart couldn’t be warmer, but the Wolverine Kelvic snorted at the thought that she would just open her arms and let her into the Icewatch. Sliver grunted and forced herself to stop thinking about it, none of these thoughts would change what would happen, however it would turn out, and she thrust her clenched fists into her pockets as she continued through the snowy wastes. It was about midday when she spotted it, an amorphous blob in the distance that became ever more defined until she saw it for what it was: A small caravan. Sliver sighed softly to herself as she kept trudging forward, she hadn’t wanted company, but in this last stretch where there were barely any trees, there wasn’t much point not taking the one established pathway that would lead her to the city. At first she thought the caravan’s progress was just slower than hers, so she had been gaining ground on them for most of her journey, and then as she got closer Sliver realized that they weren’t moving at all. The group was comprised of three medium sized covered wagons, filled to brimming with supplies, and the one at the end was tilted at an awkward angle, some of its contents spilled out into the grass and mucx. As Sliver got closer she noticed a crossbow hidden in the second wagon was trained on her as a very weary looking man made his way from around the side of the wagon. “Greetings stranger, may we engender you for some help repairing our wagon?” Sliver glanced briefly at where the wood had torn itself, causing the wheel to be separated from the axel, and shrugged, “Can’t help you.” She kept on walking and man practically leaped in front of her, his eyes desperate and tired. Sliver could tell from the look rabbits had, always ready to leap away in fear, that this caravan’s journey had been much more harrowing than her own. He pulled on her shirt sleeve, her hand swatting him away as she turned. “Please, please would you at least try?” Sliver shook her head and kept on going when the voice behind the crossbow in the second wagon came out softly, almost chillingly. “Well if she doesn’t respond to niceties Harold, she leaves us with no choice.” A woman emerged, stomach bulging with child, aiming the crossbow straight at Sliver’s face. Harold held up his hands, opening his mouth to protest, but the woman gave him a glare, silencing him instantaneously. “It will only take a moment ma’am for you to try to repair it, if you truly can’t, you can be on your way, but you’ll forgive us if we seem a little desperate to make the last leg of our journey.” Sliver bowed her head in defeat as the woman came ever closer, the bolt just a few feet from her face. In the next instant Sliver ducked and rolled towards the woman, jumping up and wrenching the crossbow from her grip, causing her to cry out and fall on her rump onto the ground. Sliver examined the weapon, clearly in inexperienced hands, and then threw it some ways off into some scrub, glaring down at her assailant. “I do not like being threatened, ma’am.” She offered a hand, and the woman looked at her incredulously, but took it, allowing herself to be drawn to her feet by the Kelvic. Sliver sighed to herself, regretting how acutely her Kelvic need to serve presented itself when someone tried to display authority over her. She walked around to the back of the caravan and looked at the broken wood, rubbing her face. She knew nothing about this, but she did know how wheels were supposed to rotate, perhaps she could just do a shoddy job patching up, get the wagon back on its feet. The Kelvic glanced at the rather astonished looking couple, “I’ll need some sort of lever and something to prop this corner up for working on it, and if you have any scrap wood, rope, nails, or bits of metal, I’ll need those too." The day continued thusly, and that was Lisbeth, the pregnant woman, commanding Harold around the caravan to various storage containers for the necessary repair materials, and Sliver trying her best to fix the broken wagon’s appendage. As the day progressed she learned that it was a small collection of traders and their family members who had pooled together their resources for a trip to Avanthal. They had hired guards for the journey, but since their beginning in Syrlias, they had lost all of them save two who were too gravely injured to be of any use. They had to pull from the food stores they had been saving for trade in order to continue to feed themselves, and Lisbeth was due to give birth in a week. They were only a couple days outside of Avanthal now that the wagon had given out, and this was the end of the proverbial rope for them. Sliver listened to their woes in silence, occasionally proffering a grunt or nod to let Lisbeth know she was still listening. A few hours before sunset, Sliver guided Harold to continue the repairs she had begun making and went out in search of food. Lisbeth offered the crossbow, but Sliver would be lying if she thought she could catch something by shooting it better than she could by chasing it to ground and strangling it with her bare hands. Of course, hunting with this method required a different skill than aiming. Hunting required patience in any form, but you had to be clever when all it took was your prey to hop skip and jump away before they were out of your range. She saw small tracks, the precise kind of hopping she had been thinking about, left dried in the muddy ground, and began following them. This process took about an hour and half, for she was constantly losing the too small prints in the ground before finding them again, but there was definitely more than one rabbit she was following and before long she found what she was hoping for, a rabbit warren. She had been collecting the little debris the environment provided as she went, and stuffed this first hole she discovered with damp leaves and grasses, then went around searching for the others. The number of rabbits in the warren must number in the dozens for all the tracks she found surrounding it, and she had stuffed four holes and found a fifth before she felt confident that she had isolated the environment enough. Removing flint and steel from her pockets, Sliver went around to each hole, lighting the tinder she had found. Any wood she had found was damp from the snow, but the needles she collected lit well enough, and together both elements made enough smoke to alarm the warren’s inahbitants. Once each had been sufficiently lit she raced back around to the open hole and readied herself. The process took several minutes before with her ear to the ground, Sliver could hear desperate scratching and scampering from beneath the earth. The first whiskered nose cautiously sniffled at the entrance of the warren, clearly unwilling to leave the safe if smoky haven, and Sliver’s hand slipped in, grabbing the creature’s skull firmly before ripping it out of its safety and snapping its neck, putting it to the side. Several rabbits scrambled past her, away and out of reach, but by the time dusk had settled on the Tundra, and she had returned to camp, Sliver had five limp rabbit bodies tied around the legs hanging over her shoulder. Then she set about to skinning and cutting up the meat as hungry traders looked eagerly over her shoulder. Sliver insisted that they not take any more of their trade goods for the meal, and cooked the traders up rabbit stew, including dried vegetables from her own stock of rations. From the way they all ate, Sliver could tell that they had been practically starving themselves not wanting to dig into their stores. She ate little to allow for everyone else, and shirked the praises thrown her way, for her job wasn’t complete until they wagon was fixed, and it was still propped up on a solid oak chest filled with costume jewelry and clothing. She stood watch most of the night, taking a small amount of pride in the fact that this was the first night in a while that the trader’s had probably slept with full bellies and the remotest sense of security. She was woken on the flattened canvas of her tent by Lisbeth’s eldest son Tomas, who was around eleven years of age. He gave her a small cup of the re-warmed remains of what was left of the stew, and Sliver thanked him, downing it in a single gulp before returning to work. The sun hung high up above the Kelvic’s head when she rose once more, handed a hammer to Tomas, and summoned Harold over to lever the wagon up and remove the chest propping it up. Sliver gritted her teeth, waiting for the weight of the wagon to undo her work, but after a few tense, creaking moments, the wagon was still upright. The crew of people cheered, and Sliver couldn’t hide her grin, looking at the ugliest repair job ever conducted, slats of wood nailed and tied down to support the joining of wood on both sides. All weight that could have been had been moved from the last wagon and redistributed among the other two as much as was safe before increasing the chances of another wagon snapping an axle. The last wagon made a horrible screeching noise as it moved forward, but no one seemed to mind, and only commented upon it with soft, relieved chuckles. For two days Sliver enjoyed the life of one who served, the one she always sought. She hunted for the traders, bringing back birds, eggs, and rodents, cleared out the tracks of any rocks that might offset the wagons, and even carried Tomas on his back when he tired of walking, the traders still scared to put any extra weight on the wagons. In the evenings she cooked their meals, and stayed up through the night to watch for danger, also tending to the wounded guards that were laid out in the first wagon. On the last evening on watch she saw a polar bear Kelvic with its rider bound by, pausing to look in the caravan’s direction for just a moment before continuing onwards. It was just past dawn of the next day when the city came fully into view, and the company cheered and urged the mules on faster towards their destination. Lisbeth came up behind Sliver and placed a hand on her shoulder, “Thank you, for everything. We needed this after everything that has happened.” Sliver shrugged. “I am only doing what I was born to do.” Lisbeth shook her head, chuckling. “You were born to help stranded traders?” Sliver shook her head. “No, but I am Kelvic, and I protect and serve.” The woman took a step back, one hand holding her stomach. “You mean…you’re one of those animal people?” Sliver shrugged again,“If that is how you choose to see us, than yes." Lisbeth seemed a little shocked, but she continued walking next to the Kelvic for a moment in silence. “Well, we still all have agreed to pay you for your troubles, you’ve done a lot for us these past few days.” Sliver muttered something about a couple silver mizas and Lisbeth balked. “Do you take us for peasants as well as traders? At the very least we wanted you to have this.” She handed Sliver a rucksack filled with preserved food, and to one side was a neatly folded cloak. Sliver removed the garment, of simple, yet elegant design, and draped the deep brown cloth over her shoulders, its weight comforting. Lisbeth smiled. “We will be in Avanthal for a couple months, so come visit us when we are set up,” She smiled rubbing her stomach fondly “, and once I’ve popped the little one out you are welcome to stay with us.” There was a pause in the conversation that Sliver was thankful for, and then Lisbeth bit her lip. “Also, I was wondering, what is your name? We have just been calling you, the hunter, and I am ashamed to say I never thought to ask.” The Kelvic paused before responding,“My name is Sliver.” Lisbeth cocked her head to the side. “That cannot be the name your mother gave you.” She stopped herself and then looked apologetically at her, “I’m sorry that is not right of me to assume such things, is that…?” “No.” Sliver said tersely, and then very softly, “My mother called me Vera.” Lisbeth smiled. “You’ll forgive me, but I prefer Vera." She seemed pleased with herself, "Very well, that is what I shall call you.” Sliver just grunted acknowledgement, unsure of why she had confided that secret with her, and the two women, very different, walked towards the gates of Avanthal, one’s journey ending, the other’s just beginning.

[Creeper]

Sliver

 

Experience Award

Tracking: 2
Observation: 1
Unarmed Combat: 1
Acrobatics: 1
Leadership: 1
Trapping: 1
Hunting: 1
Cooking: 1
Woodworking: 1

 

Lore Award

Killing with a Tent
The Shape of Polar Bear Prints
Nagging Thought: Do I Have a Purpose?
Offering Help Despite Intimidation
Smoking Out Rabbits
I Was Born Vera

 

Spoils

Average Quality Cloak
3 Days of Food Rations

What an interesting thread! Always good to see a wolverine helping people instead of nomming on them. And I love the mohawk.