Arysh was not her father’s typical daughter. She was the youngest of 8, all girls. While the others were dressing up in fancy clothes, and gossiping about scandalous things, she was outside tumbling around in the mud. A disappointment to her family, who had such high expectations of her. At the age of 10 she’d taken to spending most of her days along side the local weaponsmith, watching eagerly, her bright blue eyes devouring the molten metals and learning how to shape and meld it to her wishes. The amount of control it required sent shivers down her spin and she could imagine herself doing nothing else. Of course her family thought other wise.
They tried numerous times to get her interested in the ‘typical’ girl things, to no avail. When she turned 12 she left home – that young, to study with the weaponsmiths of Tanvu. Her family at that point had all but given up on her, and over the years often forgot she even existed.
Arysh however, did not mind. She was a fierce young woman and rarely let anything get her down. With her trusty weapons strapped to her side she had nothing to fear. By the time she reached her 17th birthday she was more then capable of taking care of herself and earned a living selling her wares on the Kojan markets. When she’d reached apprentice level she decided to branch out, and explore the lands of Thestra, and later Qalia, to learn their weapon styles. There was so much to learn and it rarely ever sated her appetite for more. She dreamed of studying with the great Masters, though that was still some time away. It was a quiet life despite her work, and at times she stared up at the stars wishing for something more. Each month she sent a portion of her earnings to her family, to thank them for what they did for her – and to try and help them get over their disappointment. She’d never be what they wanted, but it could always be worse.
Well done. I should do something like this for Ardwulf, actually – in the style of an Icelandic Saga.