A Snowflake Preserved (Belgar)

[Ilyamatar]

Summer 52, 511 AV Ilyamatar awoke stretching in her bed, the air about her cold and her warm breath billowing from her mouth in silent puffs as it hit the cool atmosphere surrounding her. She uncurled from the furs covering her, dressing with haste before washing her face and combing her long dark as hair strands of strange, ethereal streaks of light within her thick, shining locks moved through her brush. She returned to the bed rearranging the furs neatly and ensuring all was in order within her chamber before holding within her left palm for a moment the locket that hung around her neck and vowing to herself to let this day, as all days, be used well. She did not tire of her home, nor was she unhappy there, for all the great artists of her kind surely belonged in Skyglow, no matter how independent they were or how lacking in family. Skyglow as always was inspiring and being there allowed her to compare her work with others, to have her carvings criticised and her skills tested. She had work comissioned and was able to make a living from her craft but sometimes, perhaps more often than she liked to admit, she needed to escape her surroundings which so easily provoked her to relieve memories of her father. The memories were happy he had been her defender, her teacher, her supporter but he was gone and whenever she did allow his memories to play in her mind she allowed herself to also relieve the pain she felt when she he passed. She inhaled deeply, then paused, the extreme cold air filling her lungs before slowly, she exhaled regaining her composure. She did not allow herself to show her emotions, not to others. When she felt close to tears she would stop herself, concentrate on her breathing and focus on her work not allowing her emotions to get the better of her. She had decided that a journey out of her hold was necessary for her emotional wellbeing as well as to improve her art. She was surrounded by other's carvings in Skyglow, she needed to seek her own inspiration not to be influenced by the work of others and for Ilyamatar the best inspiration was her homeland itself and being out there in the snow. Leaving her chamber she walked purposefully through the passages of the Skyglow hold, her work her sole focus as always. This was her home, a busy, cultured hold of skilled artisans all seeking to perfect their craft and to honor the the great Skyglow founder Pavic. It was snowing outside and each unique flake floated down to the ground silently leaving a thick, squashy blanket that covered her path ahead. Ilyamatar extended her hand as she walked out into the snow, enjoying as always the cold as it filled her lungs and made her feel alive. She looked at a single snowflake laying in her palm, its six-fold radial symmetry a marvel to behold and she considered how amazing even the individual snowflakes that fell down upon her homeland were. Each snowflake unique, each so perfect in its design that its beauty was unmistakable. Ilyamatar found it easy to marvel at the world around her finding inspiration for her carvings in all she saw and heard. Her love of the natural world and spending time looking at her surroundings served her well and inspired her craft. Ilyamatar considered it a great shame that others did not take the time she took to look at the beauty found in all things that surrounded them. The snowflake began to melt slowly the once clear, defined edges of its intricate pattern disappearing but it's form would not be lost forever for its design remained clear in Ilyamatar's mind, as though etched in her memory ready to be retrieved and included in her carvings, giving it physical form once more. She smiled her eyes red, as they generally were, sparkled in the happiness she found in finding inspiration for her carvings. She ventured further into the snow her strides long, her boots sinking into the powder soft, fresh, loose snow that had been falling all morning and the further she ventured from her hold, the happier and more freed from her emotions she felt. She took a seat on an exposed rock clearing it of snow before sitting carefully and taking a smooth piece of wood from her back pack that she had brought with her from from her chambers. Holding the wood within her hands she ran her fingers over the finely sanded surface and looked carefully at the grain. It would be a beautiful carving, unique and without specific purpose, a work of art rather than a practical object finely decorated. It was in these carvings, those done for her delight and to practice her skill and flex her creativity that Ilyamatar found peace in her work. A satisfaction and happiness that she found in nothing else. She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured the snowflake with perfect clarity her recollection of every element of its structure so complete that she smiled thinking of the pride her father would feel for her developing skills. Then tools in hand she began to work surrounded by the snow. There was no rush in what she did, no feeling that she ought to be quick and no pressure to make any deadlines. When working on her own projects as opposed to the comissions she had the luxury to consider every mark, every line and curve that she made . Her small, nimble fingers moved fluidly and carving each delicate line of the snowflake with precision she endeavoured to give its form realism, even though what was once created from ice crystal formations was now shaped in the solid wood. Snow continued to fall around her but she began to become so fully engaged with her work that she was slowly becoming less aware of her surroundings as though in a meditative state.

[Belgar]

Belgar knew the Holds well, at least their locations, and he knew where to go to approach one in particular or to avoid them entirely. There was a sort of safety between them: not from physical harm necessarily, as the Kelvic was a sworn protector of the realm, trained since birth to seek out the danger before it became dangerous. No, the tamed wilderness between the Holds was the solitude he craved combined with the omnipresent embrace of society. It comforted him, to be near the people he served and yet alone, free of the restraints that conversation always seemed to wrap around him. Unfortunately, in the silence of his shuffling progress, his thoughts grew noisy in his mind.

She would be disappointed in him, for spending an entire morning with nothing to show for it but a trail of footprints in the snow. She had always prided herself in her productivity; even a long night spent in idle dialogue was a relationship established or maintained. She would set aside time for thinking, and she would write down what she thought, or carve it into wood or ice. She would make something of her thoughts. Belgar could not. He adored her work, but he could never wrap his mind around how she created it, how she saw something other than a block and breathe life into it. Even with mere words he had trouble expressing himself, but because she had told him it was important, he struggled to do so even after her death.

His fingers curled around a softened prism of wood that clung to the warmth of his pocket. His thumb traced the familiar grooves where an expert knife had turned the simple block into a tiny likeness of a bear. The faintest shimmer of blue sadness churned like indigo in his bestial black eyes, a pathetic mimicry of the true aurora-kissed Vantha.

The hours came and went, and the sun rose from blackness to dawn to rightful morning. Only when he was too close did he recognize the true aim in his aimless feet. The trees had thinned into a rolling plain of snow, and even from so far, he could see it: Skyglow Hold. It was as if she had pulled him there, begging that he remember her, learn her art, make her name mean something. In reality, she would not have cared who honored her after her death; she had never been very sentimental. Belgar gave her that desire in order to fill his own emptiness, but still he could not bring his feet to move one more step. Regret and sorrow welled up in his throat and froze in him, worse than any volume of ice. Finally, he managed to break the spell around his neck and turn his face away.

There he saw a figure, a small silhouette in the distance. It was feminine, fluid, and was adjoined to some other object. He stepped toward it without hesitation or pretense, only curious. But as he approached, he thought he saw something familiar. Her hair, the bend of her chin, and the way she moved... he advanced on Seisswyn’s ghost with less reserve than was appropriate, kicking snow with two human feet as he walked. He did not have the gall to call out her name, but for a second, undeniable bliss swelled up in the anticipation—

When he was closer, too close to have any excuse, the woman turned her head only a little in the throes of her art-making, and Belgar’s heart sank. It was not her. He was a fool.

But, perhaps, a fool who had not been noticed. He had paused for many seconds as the realization of his mistake dawned on him, but still he tore his gaze from her and turned briskly towards the safety of the distant trees, his mouth in a hard, flat line. Red embarrassment rose in his ears—or perhaps it was just a reaction to the prolonged bite of cold that even Morwen’s marked could feel. His breath was white and heavy as he stared intently at the ground and walked stiffly away, fondling the toy in his pocket. The shame settled down in quickly though, and in its place rose the old curiosity. The stranger had been carving, he recalled, had been turning a mere block into something more. He turned back to glance at her has he retreated, just to catch a glimpse at the artist in action.

[Ilyamatar]

She looked up from her work, something, perhaps a noise or perhaps something without sound causing her concentration to lapse and her mind to wander from its entrapment within her artist pursuit of carving to the reality that surrounded her. She was sure as she looked up, for a split second he was looking back at her but now the stranger was walking away, snow kicking up from his feet as he moved briskly and the potential of company, as terrifying as Ilyamatar found it, was slipping away with him. His arrival and thereafter rather quick departure, was not altogether suprising as Ilyamatar had not ventured far enough out of the Skyglow Hold to escape others. She was reluctant to go further alone and ill prepared, all to aware of the dangers that might await her. It was a relief at least that he was not a familiar face or another member of the hold as she did not want to share her inspiration or new ideas with others, whilst she was not competitive, her craft was private and when striving to improve her skills and work she did not wish to share them with others who might steal them. Ilyamatar found trusting others hard and all she had left now was her craft and her own, very personal creativity. No, he was a stranger to her, someone who as of yet had not judged her or let her down, so she would do her best to give him a fair, open minded start, as hard as that might be if only she could bring herself to say something, do something to prevent him walking any further away from her than he had already managed. As he progressed in the other direction she was aware of a natural and understandable fear developing in the pit of her stomach and flooding her body with adreneline. She always knew that leaving the safety of the Skyglow Hold enclosure, no matter how close she remained, was dangerous. She had some experience of defending herself, thanks to her father's training but this fear, was not about the danger of being attacked, this was fear about making contact with another, about initiating the simplest of conversations. She wanted to call out, offer a seat beside her on the rocks or perhaps strike up a conversation about his intended destination and purpose but she could not seem to let the words out. Infact, she could not move, her nervousness causing her body to betray her and refuse to move, giving her the appearance of a mysterious, icy statue. Her limbs temporarily immobilised it was her eyes alone that moved over him, taking in his size and proportions, she could not help but analyse those she met that way seeing them all as though they were wooden sculptures come to life. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to see others as anything more than short distractions from or perhaps inspirations for her work, that she barely saw the life within them anymore they were just a series of shapes connected together, a series of lines and curves ready to carve from wood. She could not take her eyes off him but although she could not move her mind was as active as ever and she knew that her motionless state and her silence would not help to make appear friendly. Whilst outside she was still and silent inside many words ran through her mind fast and endless as to what she should say to him, what was safe, what was expected and what... she felt. All of these things coming naturally to others had become alien to her, impossible to allow to flow freely from her lips. She wished she didnt have this inner battle and did not always fight her wish to make friendships and be approachable but the fear of rejection, betrayl or worst, loss was so great that to protect herself Ilyamatar had fallen deep into a pattern of pushing others away and she could not seem to break free from her self-imposed loneliness. Each step he took made the sadness within her build, he would soon be too far away to hear her if she spoke, time was running out, it was now or never and suddenly as he walked she became conscious of her carving tools in hand, the chisel in one and the hammer in the other as the beautiful wood lay across her lap. She could not drop her work, she cared for her creations too much to allow them to be damagaed unnecessarily so instead despite her fears she turned, slowly to the side and moved the wood from her lap. Standing she wiped the soft snow that clung to her thighs from the fur coat that surrounded her and took one step towards him before loudly tapping the solid metal tools together making a clear and unmistakable metallic sound that she hoped would draw his attention. Still she said nothing but waited, staring at his back with anticipation, her heart beating hard in her chest and her red eyes shining brightly as though lit directly by Morwen's lights.

[Mutt]

Belgar
XP:

Stealth - 1xp

Lore:

Thinking about something hard enough makes you see it.

Ilyamatar
XP:

Carving - 2xp

Lore:

The beauty of a snowflake

you are also the proud owner of a carved snowflake!

Other Notes:

If I missed anything, shoot me a PM and I'll check it out!