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This northernmost city is the home of Morwen, The Goddess of Winter, and her followers who dwell year round in a land of frozen wonder. [Lore]
81st of Summer 512 AV Age:16 Shhhuck…shhhhhuk…sssshuck. Wood shavings fell from Itchy’s knife his as he carved a mask. Usually, his strokes were precise, deft. However, today his hands were labored, not because of physical stress, but of the matter weighing on his mind. The mask was fashioned after a Waste Mammoth he saw depicted in a book he saw when he was 10. He remembered the detailed picture, the dim dreamy orange light in his father’s library, the dusty smell of old books. He did not realize how much he was wearing down the Mammoth’s tusk.
Itchy was sitting in his room, on his bed, with his mask. There was no light, except for a lantern on his counter, and no sounds other than the constant “shucking” sound his knife made against the wood. He had made a number of things. His father had been teaching him how to make frames for furniture, and he had assisted greatly in measuring and carving the very counter the lantern was sitting on. The dimensions came out nice, but one side of a leaf he carved was less detailed than another on the opposite side of a drawer. The making of the counter was preparation for what Itchy would inevitably have to do, make furniture. But he was not sure he wanted to make furniture for the rest of his life.
How tedious the thought, how mundane the life of a furniture maker must be. To get up every morning and do the same thing, measure, cut, gatherer, nail ,glue, he hated it. He loved his father, but is it not every man’s dream to become famous? Glorified even? What hindered his father from doing so? What tamed the frazzled lion? He was certainly smart enough to do so, to become great. His father was always down in that library reading, all the time, and any questions Itchy had, his father could answer. He was also very straight with Itchy, he did not care to censor life, he describes his straightforwardness like reading a book, “It’s better to take reality in small doses now, the poison that it is, than to wake up one day drowning in it.” He even truthfully and vividly told him where babies came from; they certainly did not come from the sky. His father was his logic, and his reliable foundation.
Petch…now I have to do the other tusk. Itchy started on the other tusk, moving mostly his wrist to sharpen the point. He was interrupted by his stomach, which protested with a low growl. I know stomach, hold on, today mum is making meat pies, and you will be thankful for waiting, while I will only be serving grief. He loved his mother and father deeply, and he wondered how they would react to what he was going to say at dinner to day.
He sighed, put down the mask, and looked around the room with candle in hand. He got up and spotted his bow hanging from a nail in the wall, shadow defining its curvy frame. He set his candle down on a nearby chest, careful not to put the flame next to anything that might be flammable, and gripped the bow. It felt solid in his hands, not heavy, but with a good necessary weight. The grip was made with soft leather, and the bow itself was half mammoth tusk, and half wood, the milky ivory tusk facing the shooter. The area surrounding the grip was carved to look like a Talderian wolf with its mouth open, it functioned both as a guard, and as decoration
Last edited by Itchytell on August 21st, 2013, 3:41 pm, edited 5 times in total.
He fingered the teeth of the wolf, remembering the lessons his mother taught him in shooting. She was always so tender to him, never shouting, patient despite his defiance, protective, but not too overbearing. She would do anything for him. She was his peace, and strong emotion. He smiled and got into shooting position. Side facing the enemy, knock the arrow, bring it up smoothly, draw as you come up, three fingers on the string, middle and ring finger around the arrow, extended arm straight, pull back till fingers reach at least the corner of one’s mouth, shoulders relaxed, eye’s on the prize, yet aim low, make sure shoulders are relaxed, gently release. He released the imaginary arrow mimicking the whisking sound it made, feeling the string zipping past his cheek and stopping abruptly to vibrate, and stared at his imaginary dead opponent. This is what he wanted to do. “Itchyy supper tiiime!” exclaimed his mother. “Coming!” shouted Itchytell. He carefully set the bow back on the nail on the wall, steadying it less it fall, and walked out his door. Down the dark hallway he bumped into his father who was walking slowly trying to get out a splinter. “Hey dad,” “Yes son?” Itchtyell’s father was a smart looking man. He was not burly or overly masculine, but he had an undeniable knowing in his eyes, and warmth about him. He stood at 5’8 with dark short-ish hair that had complimenting streaks of gray. He had a nice round belly, not really a potbelly, but more like “I hardly eat but when I do it’s the entire table,” and he had a handsome sensible face. Um, what did you want to be… I mean, other than a woodsmith? His father grinned and gave a small chuckle. Looking around almost mischievously he leaned in and said “An assassin.” Itchy raised his eyebrow. “An assassin…really?” He almost could not believe it. This docile man wanted to kill for a living. “Yes, I wanted to be the greatest, the most revered, to kill important people, make extensive plans, have a complex lair underground somewhere in some secluded area, and have my name be said in fearful whispers.” His father looked down at him with a grin. “...well then…what stopped you.” His father went quiet for a while and simply said, “Your mother.”
Last edited by Itchytell on August 21st, 2013, 2:54 pm, edited 6 times in total.
Of course! How can an assassin raise a family that would function well? The assassin’s bane, love, was what stopped his father. One person has the whip strong enough to tame the lion within a man, one person possess the pick-axe to break the rock that is a man’s heart, and one person that is inescapable even to the most stealthiest if assassins is the woman he loves. Itchy took a while to absorb that and stared down the hallway that they had been walking down. His father then began to speak again, “I believe a family should be balanced, with a father and a mother, and what would happen if I got killed? I would leave your mother here to fend for herself. I couldn’t do that to her. Besides, seeing her face every day is worth more than all the coin in the world.” By the time he was finished talking, they arrived in the dining area. The dining area consisted of a very large table that took up most of the room, with candles, doylies, and various carved animals atop it, and a huge china cabinet behind the head chair. His mother was seated in the middle with a good amount of food in from her, considering there would only be three of them eating…tonight. It did look funny with such a huge table for only three people, but my parents took precautions because there were always a number of relatives or strangers in the house. “Did you practice you math hun?” “Yes ma” Itchy grumbled. “That’s my boy.” she said warmly from across the table. Itchytell’s mother was very pretty considering she was around 45. She was still slim and graceful with a well-defined jaw-line and a natural suggestive looking raise in her eyebrow. Itchytell took a seat infront of his mother, Elaine, and his father, Grant, sat beside his mother. Itchy felt worry pass through him again like a vibrating ghost. “This is the time, the last supper, the final countdown; this is where I will tell them my secret.” You see, Itchy decided that today he would reveal his plan, his plan to leave home and train to become a renowned monster hunter and treasure finder. He had spent countless days in his father’s library reading up myths and legends, stories about odysseys, depictions of large creatures, and valiant worries famed for slaying them. Oh how he wanted it so! He wanted to become them, he knew it was possible! People had ascended to gods before, so why can’t he? “Itchy hun, your aunty will be coming to visit tomorrow, I expect you to make your presence known.” “Tikita.” Itchytell mumbled, he hated his aunt, she treated him like a child and would always boss him around, and nothing he did was good enough for her. “Don’t you dare use those kinds of words in my house young man!” His mother said, menacingly waving around a knife.
“Or I’ll have your tongue!” “Yes ma.” He said grinning, his mother understood his pain. His father smiled at the antics and said, “Itchytell has been doing very well with his carving, he will make a fine woodsmith when he becomes of age.” Instantly Itchy felt his heart drop, and felt physical pain in his chest. He loved his mother and father so dearly, he was so happy here, why did he have to betray them? Had he not forgotten what his father just told him? Love will be the bane of him. Well I’m just not going to fall in love…I might have some fun here and there, but never love. That was his resolution. “Father.” Itchytell said, shakily, but with all the man he could muster. “I don’t want to take the business.” Silence. His mother’s smile had went straight, and his father was looking down at his food before he said it, but now he smoothly lifted it and looked into young Itchytell’s eyes. “What do you mean?” Finding a little strength Itchytell said firmly. “I want to become a monster hunter.” Silence again. This time nobody said or did anything. “And I want to go into caves and find treasure and become great.” Rethinking the moment Itchytell felt stupid. A monster hunter, really? Are you stupid? Are you a child?” Do you want to get killed?! These adults won’t take you seriously. “A monster hunter?” His mother said. “Huh, so where are you going to live?” “I’ll live here in Iceglaze for a while, but I plan on moving where the tides are more dangerous when I hone my skills.” “What will you eat?” “I’ll live off the land.” “What will you do for money?” “Busk and help people.” “Do you feel like it’s the right thing to do?” “I feel like it’s the only thing.”
There was a silence. As his mother looked into his eyes, she looked different. He could tell she was worried by the shade of purple her eyes had turned, but she looked desperate, overly worried. “…and what about the business Itchy my son?” He had not thought about that. About his father having to do all the work, cut the wood and such. It would be particularly bad for his later years when he was not so strong. A dilemma arose. “…well you could have another son.” His mother flushed, and his father smiled. He had been silent this whole time even though the initial statement was geared towards him. “Let him do what he wants.” Astonished, Itchytell and his mother looked at him gaping. “He is almost a man now honey, let him do as he pleases, and if he decides it’s not for him, he’ll come back…most of them do.” The fourth silence struck, and Itchy took the opportunity to reassure them more, saying “I don’t have to leave tomorrow, next season, or even next year. I just want to cushion the blow when the day comes of my leaving.” His mother’s purple eyes had shifted to a calmer blue, and his father’s gray eyes had taken a proud golden color. It was probably because of his son’s display of confidence, independence that made him feel so. “Alright.” His mother said resolute. “We are behind you one hundred percent.” Young Itchy sank in his seat. Hot tears started to well in his eyes, and one finally gushed over his bottom eyelid, sliding down his cheek. “Thanks.” Was all he could say.
Father: Wanted to Be an Assassin but Held Back by Love
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Dreams of Becoming an Adventurer
Additional Notes :
Regarding your skill of archery, you should change this into Weapon: Bow of choice. If you’re going to have somehting else in your room besides the basic necessities (like the bow, for example), then you are required to deduct its value from your ledger.
I was also curious of your description of Itchytell’s arvinta. As arvintas are, it is not possible for a family to have a private library at all. Think of the Holds as apartment complexes, and the arvintas the individual apartment units. Most rooms large enough for just a common room, the parent’s bedroom, and one room for all the children to sleep together.
And since you mentioned here that Itchy wanted to be an assassin, I'll direct you to this particular Founder's Announcement regarding the topic, just in case you haven't chanced upon it yet.
Arise ye of noble heart
If you have any concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out.
