Selah Snowsong (WIP)

[Selah Snowsong]

Selah Snowsong 13th of Spring, 490 AV (20 years old) Male Vantha Physical Description I am not a person of striking appearance that requires much detail. My stature is a mere 5"6', my weight 145 pounds. This is not a direct result of my genes as my parents are both quite tall and of significant physical bearing. There will be no legends written, however, of great accomplishments of strength or battles won with body bruised and battered, clinging stubbornly to the promise of strength conquers all. My body bruises easily, my bones are fragile, my blood is thin. My skin is the color of caramel, smooth and without blemish. The days of my youth were spent on more scholarly and harmless pursuits rather than the rough and tumble lifestyle that so many attribute their scars to. I suppose the most striking thing about me, the one vanity I hold, is my hair. A white waterfall splashing across my shoulders, highlighted with faint traces of ice blue. It is the one thing I treasure about my body. The weight of it across my face as I sleep gives me a feeling of safety that my mother never gave me as a child. My eyes are typical of Vantha, fluid and changing with my moods. Usually I find myself in a curious, jovial mood which is reflected as a sunflower yellow. As far as my clothing goes, I tend to pick white or blue clothing that suits the weather of Avanthal. My favorite coat is one my father gave me, white and thick with reindeer fur to keep the knives of winter out. Character Concept My father always told me there are only two kinds of emotions: Truth and Lies. Of course, he wasn't always in his right mind after my mother died, but I believe him however naive it may seem. The reason I am a storyteller is because when people become words on a page, you see them. Not the Lies that surround them or that they've built up, but the True them. The real them. I have never been much for dreams or imagined fairy tales. Hopefully you see the difference between imagination and something imagined. Do you? I am not making sense... What I mean to say is that I am seeker of the Truth. In my homeland of Avanthal a tree can be seen from miles off on a clear day. Granted, there are hardly ever perfectly clear days in that land of blizzards and wind, but just imagine: miles of snow stretching unbroken from the horizon to your left all the way to your right. An ocean of white, blinding and beautiful. Miles out, in the center of your view, is a tree. A single tree. Alone, stark against its lack of surroundings. A speck of dark in a world of light. This tree, this view, this ocean is what I endeavor to experience every day in everything. To see what TRULY is, not what is hiding behind hills or mountains or fog, but the Real. The Truth. Of course, my emotions are not so clear cut as a tree in an ocean. I consider myself to be fairly well contained, yet surprisingly extroverted. I enjoy other's company. I enjoy listening to people. My love of stories far overpowers any aversion I may feel to the blind and often harmful pursuits of others. Others say I have a very curious, scholarly nature that motivates to learn and put things into words. If I could just show others how things really are, get past the walls they've built up and reveal to them their true nature, the nature of things around them, the nature of me then I've succeeded. That is all I want. That is the moving force behind everything I do. Character History 13th of Spring, 490AV The inhabitants of Snowsong Hold have told me that the day of my birth was... normal. I was born a little past midday in a small house into the arms of a young, round faced midwife. After wiping me clean and making sure all was in order, I was passed into the arms of my mother. My eyes were a bright yellow, like a field of sunflowers. The air was heavy from hours of pain and exertion. Heat poured off a fire in the corner in waves, warming the room, keeping the cold at bay. Sunlight sat on the windowsill, a welcome visitor after hours of curtained darkness. My mother's arms were warm, her chest heaving and wet with sweat. Her smile hung on her face like a coat. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue. Hot breaths caressed my cheek as she struggled to fill her overworked lungs. The door opened, letting in a gasp of cold air as my father entered the room. He removed his thick outer coat and reindeer cap, edging closer to the bed, not wanting to disturb the sanctity of a mother and son's first meeting yet wanting to see his son all the same. My mother's blue eyes met the worried purple of my father's as he placed a hand on her leg. His hand came away dripping with blood. A tear fell from the corner of his left eye. My mother, trembling, held me out towards him after kissing my forehead. As my father took me from her I'm sure, even then, I understood my mother would never hold me again. I had come too soon. I had killed her. My body was slick with her blood from my first breath. I still wear the weight of her last kiss on my forehead like a mountain. It will never leave me. Spring, 490AV - Winter, 500AV After my mother died, my father sank into a dark depression. His name is Merari, a fitting name as it means bitter. I am told he used to laugh, and that he was one of the best storytellers in Snowsong. His stories ended with my birth, though. He became a man of few words. I am not sure how to describe my first ten years in this life except, ironically enough, with a story. It is not long, so bear with me. This defines those ten years in that small house in the middle of Snowsong Hold. It was the year 498AV in Winter. I was 8 years old. Outside a blizzard raged fiercely, screaming through the alleys and rattling the walls with a ferocity far surpassing any warrior or drunken barfly. We had not seen the sun for several days, and had not been able to escape the confines of the house for the past two. The days were long and spent carving small figures out of twigs stolen from the woodpile, or staring through the fire into far away places and times. My father did not speak much. I did not speak much. Besides the storm swirling around us, it was quiet. "Father?" My voice cracked from not having used it all day. Merari didn't look up from his place by the fire. Louder, "Father." After some long minutes I sat up from my place in the middle of a twig-soldier battlefield and touched his shoulder. "Father." He shook his head as if he were waking up from a long sleep and looked up at me with glazed eyes. "What is it?" I had to strain to hear his whisper. "Tell me a story," I asked, knowing what his answer would be yet too bored to care. Just the sound of his refusal would be enough. To my surprise, however, he looked at me quietly for a minute that felt like an hour. He nodded and, not believing my luck, I sat down next to him. His gaze returned to the fire. "When I was a boy," he began. "On days like this we would play a game called Truth or Lie, my father and I. The aim was to tell a story, either a true one or a made up one. They could be about anything from something that had happened in the market last week or about a hunt that had gone badly. The other person would then try to figure out if the story was a Truth or a Lie. If the guess was right, the storyteller would have to stand outside in the blizzard naked for a full minute, and vice versa if the listener was wrong." A chuckle escaped his lips and I couldn't help but smile at this rare glimpse into his childhood. His mood quickly changed to a serious air. "My father would tell me if I couldn't tell the difference between a Truth and a Lie, I deserved to be alone. I deserved to die." His eyes, purple like the day my mother died, found my own troubled bright gray eyes. "There are only two things in this world: what is True and what is Lie. Never let yourself be deceived, you understand?" Shocked by his sudden change in mood, I simply nodded. He went back to gazing into the fire. After a moment, I stood and returned to my battlefield, trying to figure out what he meant. Present Day That single moment has defined how I have lived ever since. Of course I have questioned his logic and the places it has taken me, the harm it has done to me and others. My search for Truth could be termed fanatical, leading me to take tutelage under a local auristics practitioner. I am not extremely learned, but I have studied to the point where I can generally tell if someone is lying about something, or if they are extremely upset. I don't spread the fact that I have this knowledge simply because people mistrust it. They feel vulnerable, naked, violated. It is simply just learning how to see people for who they really are. In other ways I have suffered as well. I have never had a girlfriend, for example. While I have many friends who are females, I am far too focused on my stories and my studies of people that I, somehow, avoid divulging too much of myself and it turns people off after a length of time. Also, I have strongly avoided any physical endeavors whatsoever. As a child, I learned that I have a disease called Anemia that causes me to bleed exorbitantly from even the smallest of cuts. This is a result of my early birth and prevents me from joining others in anything but peaceful camaraderie. I am not much of a hunter, or a fisher, or much of anything really. My only pursuit is the telling of Truth. It defines me, shapes me. I am not a man of great aspirations. Nor am I destined for great things. I have only words and they have never failed me. Training Storytelling 30 (+10 Racial starting bonus, +20 starting package) Writing 15 (+15 starting package) Auristics 15 (+15 starting package) Lore of Psychology (starting package) Lore of Defining Truth (starting package) Equipment and Possessions 1 Set of Clothing (cloak/coat & footwear included) 1 Waterskin 1 Backpack which contains: 1 Set of Toiletries (comb, brush, razor, soap) Food for a week 1 eating knife Flint & Steel Heirloom: White Hooded Fur Cloak - This cloak was made by my great-grandfather and was passed to me by my father upon coming of age. Money/Expenditures 100 GM Nothing spent yet. Thread List No threads yet.