0th of Cylus 0
It is said that when the Immortal Treid was slain, his heart was buried in the shadows of the ice, cursed by the Immortal Audrae. His people built a city atop the frozen wasteland in hopes of one day finding it and resurrecting their fallen leader.
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~20 Cylus 683~
A break from working with his father gave the young Ellune time to step away and cool off. The wooden door shutting behind him, he stepped outside only to gaze as the winds of Cylus whipped about and howled through the open area. Snow kicked up and beginning immediately to cake his skin in what normally is seen as a pleasurable experience to any Ellune.
To Norgrim, at least at this moment, he was numb to it. Eyes looking ahead, a glossed over stare was all that could be managed from him. His roughened hands grasping the ledge of his family's shop, knuckles white and his arms visibly tense. Only to look ahead still, as if his body wouldn't properly respond to what was going through his mind. Albeit due to such memories none would expect a proper reaction, let alone one as controlled as Norgrim's.
In his mind, the image which occurred merely a week ago was still fresh in his mind. Opening the door to his home, expecting to be greeted by his mother and sister. He and his father tired yet happy to go home and rest with them, yet all he was greeted with was her body. Eyes empty, lifeless, colder than the ice he knew and grew about. At first he looked upon her in confusion, clearly it was just the mental shock of seeing such a state. He didn't move, at least not until his father entered and immediately ran towards her.
"Kjære ... Jesca ?"
Kneeling before his wife, Ingemar's hand immediately rested upon her shoulder. Norgrim only watching as his father rushed towards her, panicking as if he knew immediately what was wrong. As the moment's passed, Norgrim's heart seized with each breath, the growing pain within his father transferring almost instantly to the growing boy. Only stepping forward, Norgrim stopped when nearing the pair. Not knowing completely his mother was dead, mind still reeling from everything that rushed through his body. All that Norgrim could manage was a tightening of his fists, it was then that finally he heard the sobs of his father. Ingemar's voice hushed as he then hunched over his wife, fingers digging into her arm and still feebly attempting to wake her.
"Nei, Jesca nei ... stå opp. Vennligst ta opp. JESCA VÅKNE OPP!"
That final grieved scream was what finally caused Norgrim to shed a few silent tears. To anyone else that day of Cylus was simply another wonderful day, yet to Norgrim this season held a far different meaning. The winds that howled seemed to him almost to mourn alongside him, the land itself having been ready for his mother's return to it. The ice reluctantly yet dutifully taking her, despite all of this the male remained silent. Despite the desperate thudding of his heart and every urge he had to cry out finally in grief of her death. Just as on that day, he only kept silent, every muscle in his body tensed, planted where he was as these memories played out one by one. As such Norgrim was so absorbed that he failed to realize that the wood beneath him gave way. Hands bloodied from the compressed wood beneath his fingers, splinters digging into the skin and causing rivulets of blood to flow from within. The pain not so much as registering to him his body, his mind so wracked with grief that nearly all else failed to even exist in Norgrim's mind for this moment.
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The singular call partially snapping him out of his trance, yet all the same Norgrim seemed unable to move despite his father's voice beckoning him back to work. Only exhaling slowly, his mind finally calmed for the moment. Tears still staining his flesh, dripping onto his hands then finally running off into the snow outside. Eyes still focused ahead, it was clear that Norgrim heard, yet Ingemar knew perfectly well why his son remained still. Thus he only called forth a second time to the boy, his voice slightly firmer this time. Aiming to jerk his child from those memories and the emotional spiral they would invariably cause.
"Norgrim, det er tid for oss til å komme tilbake til arbeid min sønn."
Taking one final breath, only for his hands to release the compressed wood beneath them. Norgrim finally realized just what state his hands were in, looking at them as blood ran off them, the young male only started to pick the splinters from them before Ingemar stepped in, motioning to his son that he would do so. Remaining silent for the moment, Ingemar for now only helped his son. The next few moments were ones that anyone would consider tense, yet for the father and son now, such was normal. Ingemar had no real advice for his son, as he himself had no real idea how to handle the loss of his beloved. Much less how to counsel a son who remained as silent and cold as the ice about them due to what happened.
The final splinter free, Ingemar then stepped back into the shop, Norgrim lingering for but a moment. Looking at his father and incidentally taking after the example that was left for him. His mother now gone, all he had was the father who taught him and reared him in the family trade. As such he was a man who, right now poured everything into his work, such showed as the quality of their pieces increased immensely. However the grim reality of it, was that within the shop, there were two men who barely spoke to each other. A father who only praised his son when exemplary work left his hands, who had no other way to show his acceptance and love aside from through the time they had together. As well as a son who poured every ounce of his agony into what he did, using that instead of tears as a way to cope. His heart shut off to the other's, his eyes colder than the ice that encompassed them.
As such, Norgrim's pain soon defined him. A young man wracked with grief, gripped by it relentlessly and unable to mourn or even understand just what happened to his mother and why. Only focused completely upon his craft, nearly all others ignored for this singular duty of his. The young man's family irrevocably shattered, and a business that grew despite the loss, in fact it grew because of it.
word count: 502
- Prophet of Old
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Norgrim Dyrdahl qalar-Treid
- Work as a Coping Mechanism
- Hitting Timber Causes Painful Splinters
- Dead Ellune are Colder than Ice
Didn't award much due to this short time of brooding for Norgrim. Otherwise, it was an interesting look into his emotions and the painful memories he has of his deceased mother.
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