As the oldest son of an artisan family, Ithica’s path had always been laid out before him. He’d been sure of it since he was a child, watching, learning all that he could about the ways of craftsmanship. His parents' forge did well, selling and trading to other vendors of Nashaki and travelers just passing through alike. But his parents did their jobs because they had to, not because their hearts were in it, and he could tell.
As a young teen striving to become a professional, Ithica decided that he didn’t want to be just a simple blacksmith at all -- he wanted to craft something beautiful. Something strong. When the shop was his, he decided, and his father couldn’t peer over his shoulder all the time, he was going to craft weapons. Something to be proud of. But the allure of money had been what’d driven his family to the craft in the first place, and soon enough, the want for more devoured him, too. Weapons were specialized – could be sold for a higher price than simple armor and tools.
At twenty arcs old, his father passed the shop to him, and his vision became reality. He had everything he’d ever wanted – the craft he loved, work that he was proud to sell. Now he was the one telling his siblings to work faster, peering over their shoulders. But after a few arcs of being content, again, he wanted more. The wealth from selling his weapons was never going to be enough wealth, the materials were never going to be up to the standards he wanted. Nobody was going to put as much effort into their work as he was.
Three arcs later, that discontent led him to a foolish decision. A small group of travelers requested weapons – more than the usual traveler would. He didn’t ask about the reasons, and agreed to it nonetheless, blinded by the payment was sure to be promising. But when the crafting was complete, and the results were beautiful, he changed his mind. He decided his work was worth more than he sold them for, and he refused to hand it over unless more money was promised. The travelers – a small group of slave raiders, traveling through from Athart – disagreed. What was one insolent blacksmith, after all? They declined, took their weapons, and took him along with them.
Too proud to consider himself the prisoner that he had become, Ithica accepted the chains on his wrists, and vowed that he would take his things back eventually. But as trial bled into trial, and the small group of slavers traveled from Nashaki, through the hotlands, on their merry ways to Almund, that pride has started to waver.