Closed The Thrill of the Hunt [Veizor]

[Chev]

Season of Spring, Day 88, 513 AV “Chev,” called out a deep voice, rising above the buzz of Frostfawn conversation and settling into Chev’s ears. The young boy jumped up from his seated position, swiveling his head about, seeking the round, hearty figure of his father in elation. He found him leaning against the doorframe leading to his immediate family’s arvinta, a complacent hand resting atop his slight beer belly, for he was a man who loved his drink. He wore a goofy grin that stretched across his face; Chev beamed back. “Yes, Father?” he asked, stepping over a mewling kitten to meet him. Selvyrn, upon seeing his young son’s blissful expression, chuckled merrily and ruffled his already disarrayed chocolate locks. “Listen, little Chev—I’ve caught word that the Snowsong Hold and our Hold are organizing another hunt. They’re going after waste walruses, it seems.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Don’t you want to get into the—the Icewatch?” He looked at Chev for confirmation, eyebrows raised. Chev nodded his head animatedly, sensing where the conversation was headed and barely waiting for his father to continue. “Well, I was wondering, ah, if you would like to accompany them. Limey’s going, too, and he’s got some experience hunting. I think it’s high time for you to learn something about the art of the hunt. It’ll be nigh impossible for you to not get in if you’ve got the right experience,” he went on, waggling his eyebrows. “What d’you say?” “Yes!” Chev’s head bobbled up and down, and it looked like his head would fly off his shoulders if he kept it up. “Thank you, Father!” “Well,” said Selvyrn. “You go get ready and meet your brother in about ten chimes.” But Chev was already running off to meet his brother. *** Chev and Limey trudged down a well-worn path of snow, headed for the Icewall Gates, where the rest of the hunting party would be meeting up. Chev was cheerfully humming a sing-song lilt, a lively bounce in his step and a bright expression on his face. Limey was looking excited as well, but not to the extent of his younger brother. When he turned to see such a jolly mask worn on his visage, he could only chuckle and shake his head. Chev looked up at Limey when he threw an arm around his neck. “Excited?” Limey asked, grinning. “Yep!” The two came to the clearing before the Icewall Gates, where a relatively small number of burly-looking Alvanthian men stood, looking about as happy as the two brothers. They all carried some form of weapon—some with a bow and arrows, others with a harpoon and some with a spear in hand. Chev looked down at his empty hands, a worried frown replacing his once bright expression. He hadn’t thought to bring a weapon. He didn’t even have a weapon to bring. Limey waved, and one of the men waved them over. “Limey! Brought little Chev, did’ja?” The two coalesced into the crowd, Chev watched as Limey casually socialized with a few of the hunters from the Snowsong Hold. A knot of anxiety had formed in his stomach as he waited for the party to depart.

[Veizor Coolwater]

The grunting noises of several Coolwater hold members could be heard back on the docks, the others stayed on land. They were preparing for the incoming haul of fish. Some personnel was on site for the repairing of boats or supplying dry, hot towels for the hard workers. There was a handful of boats out today, even spacing between each other. It was a smart plan, gain more catch for the hold and to prevent arguments over anything as trivial as food that would be distributed equally anyway. The sun's heat was most prominent at this time of the season, so close to summer. It would be a constant battle from day to day for the marked followers of Morwen to keep the buildings from losing their ice. But before that, one of them had other duties to attend too. "Everyone, shift to the right, northeast! Get to the school at full rowing power!" commanded Glauden, the navigator for the long-boat, medium size but small in width. Veizor kept a low stance, one leg on the end of the boat while the other was firmly planted on the wooden floor of it. In the process of controlling his res, having water within the lake immediately swirl around into a sphere that floated underwater. It was placed right next to a school of fish, being trapped in it while the nets were thrown overboard. Splashing into the water, slowly descending, it wrapped itself around the sphere. Veizor quickly released the magic, the sphere dissipating. The fish fit perfectly into the net! "Lift!" said one other lad who relieved himself of oar duty, calloused knuckles and rough hands gripping the net. His fingers were best placed right next to the holes, but took caution to not lose his fingers to a careless tug of the net. Burly, strong Glauden yanked the open end, lifting it over his shoulder. The fish floundered about, useless struggling. The water dripped and made a splattering noise, hitting the lake water and sides of the boat. The men cheered and roared with their achievement, helping Glauden set the catch down before tying the knot on the net to keep the fish from breaking out. A swipe of the brow, Veizor sat back down. Deep breaths following a couple shoulder-slaps as a gesture for thanks, the boat returned to the dock. "Phew, a man needs water to refill the well of hardwork!" exclaimed the Vantha, taking a seat on top of a wooden barrel. He took a jug of water, originally left for someone else. A quick three gulps of it helped tremendously. Minding his own business, a fisherman waved to him to grab his attention. Not of broad stature or relatively good height, the fisherman looked like he was in his late-twenties. "A fine day to you sir, what you need of me?" asked Veizor, standing up and shaking the man's hand. "Well tidings! Get yer' behind at the front gate with ye' Frostfawn and Snowsong fer' a hunting party at thee' wastes. Learn a few thangs or two and be friendly! Tomorrow morning, don't be late!" he stated, the fisherman giving a simple nod, goodbye gesture with two fingers, and happily humming a tune before greeting a boat crew. Deep sigh and a stroll to his home, Veizor packed his things, rejuvenated himself with a goodnight's rest, he was ready for the next day. -------- His sword-breaker in its small leather holding across his belt and a mild focus on the group that had already started to converge on the gates, not much was on the Vantha's mind. Excitement and an anxious feeling of wanting to get the whole thing going, it sped up his walking pace unconsciously. The snow moved out of the way with each step, leaving a footprint and steady trail. The conversations got louder, until Veizor had reached the party itself. Everyone looked well prepared, eager to get the blood flowing. Looking each individual up and down previously before at a distance, a better up-close look did not reveal much more information. One thing that caught his eye, a boy that looked around his age didn't have any form of weapon. Maybe it was hidden for all Veizor knew, so he thought nothing else of it. "Welcome, glad you made it! You are from Coolwater?" said the hunter who had called over Limey and Chev. A hand extended out. "Yes, yes I am! Thank you for having me, I hope to be beneficial to the group and learn!" he earnestly remarked, putting his own hand out to give a firm shake between the two men, starting off on good impressions and the beginnings of a bond. "I am Hansin, these two here are Limey and who we liked to call, "Little Chev". But don't worry mate, y'all look to be the same age so you two can be hunting partners on this trip." Smiling, Veizor looked down at Chev. He could easily tell why he wasn't referred to anything other than an adjective used for small sizes. Not wanting to go off on a tangent of jokes just yet, the Vantha settled for a more restrained approach to this occasion. It was important that they would begin off on the right foot in order for them to both be successful as a duo. "Pleased to meet you, I am Veizor. I am a mage of Reimancer, take my word when I say you will have protection on my part while I am around. No beast will best this hunting party, fine men all around what I can see," introducing himself before changing his tone midway, grandiose type of feeling in his voice. He couldn't help himself but add a little pep in his step, praising the group that had assembled. A hearty laugh and a quick head-count, Hansin pointed outwards to the wastes, "We are off!" The whole group followed, Veizor staying close to Chev and Limey for the most part. It was a whole new frontier, so the Vantha trekked along a thin line mentally, cautious of the wilds and what was being held secret.

[Chev]

A tall young man approached Chev with an earnest smile. He looked down at him, boasting his superior height, as he introduced himself as Veizor. Chev froze up, paralyzed by intimidation at first. He was so tall! However, Veizor’s friendly smile wore down the barriers protecting his meek figure, and he offered a quiet, but warm, smile in response. “Hi! My name’s Chev, and I, um . . .” Chev’s voice trailed off, and he was suddenly aware of his lack of talent—at least, lack of skills that would benefit the hunting party. He didn’t exactly know what he’d expected. In retrospect, the idea of borrowing a weapon was childish and silly, and Chev couldn’t help the pink hue that thrilled his cheeks. Lacing his hands behind his back, he suddenly became very interested in his worn leather boots. “I, ah . . .” Before Chev could properly relish in his abasement, a throaty voice bellowed above the background hum of excited idle chatter, and they were off. Chev quickly followed the moving group, bringing up the rear, as they marched past the Icewall Gates in a disorderly, bumbling fashion. Snow crunching beneath his boots, he considered his situation. Was it good or bad? He was upset that he didn’t have a weapon, for that meant he wouldn’t be able to actively participate in the hunt and he would instead have to retire to the sidelines to quietly observe. On the other hand, he had no experience with any sort of weapon, and he didn’t want to look like a fool in front of all of the experienced hunters. His forehead was creased with worry, his eyes flushed a deep, vibrant purple to reflect his troubled feelings. Oh, thought Chev. What if somebody lent me a weapon? Perhaps some of them hold an extra weapon. That would be wonderful. His eyes shifted once more, sky blue clouding his irises. He looked around eagerly, but soon found that he was unable to do anything but look at the backs of the grown Alvanthian men. Eyes reverting once again to its dreary purple, he sought comfort in conversation. He looked to his left, where Veizor walked beside him. Looking at his tall figure, he had to be reminded of his unfortunate height. “What do you eat to get so tall?” he wondered aloud, eyes shining with curiosity.

[Veizor Coolwater]

The way he acted, his mannerisms, made Veizor ponder Chev's real age. Surely no one at 18 or 17 would act like a newborn puppy to strangers, nonetheless blush as if he was a school girl. His white eyes stared at Chev, mentally reducing him to miniscule size, body language dictating his own lack of self-confidence. His own body betrayed him, the pink coming and permeated his cheeks profusely. It all happened in a moment after the boy's voice trailed off, ending just as fast as Veizor made the observation. Chev was someone to, "watch" per say, if only it was to see if he would carry his own weight on the mission. In a "Saved by the Bell" fashion, the call to leave was made. The actual journey to the wastes wasn't anything excited for Veizor, deciding to remain quiet and watch the group itself. The first interesting thing to point out about the group was that there was organization, then again there wasn't. Everyone had a connection of sorts, already knew the procedure. These men must of been hunting together since they were boys, as commands were being carried out with no form of verbal communication being emitted. Head nods, hand signals, eye contact, really felt like they were all in a different dimension when teamwork was involved. Second was what Veizor perceived to be extensive knowledge of the landscape by the veterans of the hunting party, talking to the younger ones about the area. The short cuts, lairs of beasts, fauna and flora, bits and pieces of information that the Vantha took into his memory bank. Turning his head and looking down once more at Chev, a chuckle accidently slipped out. "Ha! Comical thought, but I do not know other than my mother's cooking. I am sure my dad's own height as to do something with it, and toying with magic as a child," he answered, chuckles between some words. It was an absurd question in its own right, but a quick reassessment of his own self made Veizor believe it to be a valid question. He was mostly know for being taller than everyone else that was average height, easily picked out of crowds of Vantha during the day. A gush of cold wind carried snow flakes with it, peppering the party and making them come to a sudden halt. Grabbing his scarf and covering his face as quickly as he could, everyone else either used their undershirts or arms to provide minimal protection. It continued for a couple of seconds, surprising those marching in the front. "Hansin!" yelled out a shorter Vantha, bulky with a spear in hand and a shield on his back. "Shouldn't it be warmer at this point?!" he questioned, quickly turning to face away from the wind. "Yeah, thats how it is supposed to be! But we cannot control the weather my friend! Press on at a slower pace!" he replied back, waving over his shoulder to command everyone to move forward. Grunts and whispers could be heard between others, but no one ultimately minded. It was just a usual day of hunting, with increasingly unusual circumstances.

[Chev]

Chev cocked his eyebrows upward and pressed his lips together, but he gave no reaction. Veizor was an odd Alvanthian, his height surpassing everybody else’s. There was most certainly a trick to it, but Chev didn’t question the boy any further—he might be embarrassing him, after all. He knew he didn’t like being poked and prodded by the butt end of the question stick. Chev ambled beside the tall Alvanthian, wide eyes absorbing the leveled landscape with much curiosity, even though there wasn’t much to be seen. Trees were sparse and the animals didn’t come out until they were much farther south. The only comfort his eyes received was the gentle flakes of snow fluttering to the ground in a mesmerizing fashion. His gaze also settled on the backs of the burly men, silently communicating with one another as they efficiently travelled through the wastes, following the shortest path to where waste walruses would begin to appear. He noticed that Limey had no trouble at all coalescing into the mix of veterans, even though he was somewhat of a greenhorn himself. The young Alvanthian bristled with brief envy, his eyes flickering between hazel and viridian green. Then he sighed—he didn’t have that social talent that many of his family did have. A chilly gust of wind swept over the party. Chev, graced with a Gnosis mark from the Goddess Morwen, merely blinked before bringing up a hand to shield his face reflexively. The two men who took upon the roles of the leader and co-leader of the extravagant operation quickly yelled a few quick words to each other, before pressing on. The group shifted to match with the new pace, and Chev nearly bumped into the man in front of him because his attention had shifted elsewhere. The trek was not particularly exciting. Suddenly, a shout from the men in front, followed by the men in the back. Chev, aroused, stood on the tips of his toes to look over the men with arms reaching the skies, but he still could not make out much in the front thanks to the white frost and his position in the rear. He settled back down on the soles of his feet, biting his lips. He turned to look at Veizor. “Why are they shouting? You probably have a good view, right?”

[Veizor Coolwater]

The sudden gusts of wind had traveled across the entire group, now the back shielding their own faces. The party began to move deeper through the developing blizzard, huddling closer for warmth when bits and pieces of snow bypassed their leathery defenses. Feeling a slight burning sensation from Morwen's mark, the cold air barely phased him. Only problem he had was with the potential case of getting snow blindness, so Veizor avoided looking down and covered his eyes with a snow rabbit pelt. He had asked to borrow it from one of the other men, having extra in hand. It was getting stronger and stronger, bringing the travel speed to an unbearable slowness. Visibility was reduced to about fifteen or twenty feet. Veizor was more bothered by the parties refusal to push through the hardship, choosing to go through it bit by bit instead of charging through. They would be done with it faster that way, but the Vantha couldn't decipher his own kinds thinking. Maybe the Gnosis' effect of ignoring cold temperatures gave a false impression on Veizor, thinking that other people could do it by the concept of mind over matter. Some could consider it a form of spoiled thinking, but he gave no more thought to it. Turning his head to Chev, removed from his inner rambling, he noticed that Chev hadn't been much bothered by it. Then, Veizor's mark burned and he somehow sensed that he had Morwen's mark as well. "Well, the winds are getting powerful and the snow is hindering our progress. Follow me, we can go see what is going on," he inquired, leaving his footmarks behind through the snow. Weaving through the crouched men, dodging snow covered fabrics and multitude of weapons, Veizor was up in the front. Hansin turned and looked at him, moreso upwards. "What ya' need?" he asked, a slap at his own beard to knock off attached snow flakes. "Whats the next course of action, are we close?" he asked.

oocYou can take the reins from here with the NPCs! Along with story. Idc what you do, go wild with the ideas.