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Messages - Vigot Thidrandisson

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1
Norr Province / Re: Home for the Mourning Days
« on: December 07, 2020, 10:39:46 PM »
His hands felt empty and awkward then, and Vigot replaced them to his pockets to bolster their warmth.

"Mm," he elaborated, tucking his chin slightly into the collar of his jacket. He'd be pulling the hood up soon, to better spare his ears. "At the encouragement of my family. To escape their smothering, mostly." His sisters had wailed and raged at him for weeks before going, every monologue pinned by their desire for his happiness and growth but another city entirely, brother, really? Have we taxed you so much? Loved you too well that you have to leave us so fully?

He'd been genuinely surprised not to find one of them waiting for him when he'd landed. Or that none of their following letters had included anything about joining an acting troupe, with the levels of overwrought drama that had followed him most waking moments.

The look she gave at naming his adopted city made his eyebrows twitch in confusion, but he withheld inquiry. It seemed too sharp an emotion to address as such fresh acquaintances. Instead, his tall collar at his neck became more a shield the further he attempted to sink into it. At the corner of his eye, the specter of his grief edged closer. "A family matter arose," he allowed. It hurt to touch, in a way he knew no Craft to fix. "I agreed to travel lightly, in favor of speed." He wasn't quite sure how they couldn't make me stay would come across, and it was more likely to cast and unfavorable light on his Lady and the circle he was employed with if he voiced it. Not that there would have been attempts to keep him, barring another incident arising at the very moment he'd submitted his request for leave.

Easier, then, to fall back on courtesies. He dipped his head again in thanks of her name, and smiled lightly at the confirmation of what he'd suspected. "Well met, Starling. Good to find another healer." Glacia could never claim a shortage of healers, but no two were trained exactly the same way, and there were always things to be learned. There was more than one way to cook a fish, as it went, and more than one way to heal a wound.

"Good," he said. Maybe he'd return to the vendor later and try the dish when his stomach didn't feel quite so tense. "Maybe your good word will better their standing." Perhaps their sister stall could be spoken with, offered a little sturdier footing. Better stall positioning, better docking privileges for a season. Poke the competitive landscape of the markets a little bit, see what shook out.

2
Norr Province / Re: Home for the Mourning Days
« on: November 22, 2020, 03:41:03 PM »
Vigot would be the first to allow that he considered much of the mystery of people vanished if one reviewed those they'd grown with, and conceded that there was always new things to learn if one allowed themselves to be taught. That said, Vigot's first interactions with women were his grandmothers and his sisters, and some patterns held true.

Most of them were want to receive that which was offered to them rather than to allow it away. Vigot had frequently had difficulty executing a similar drive, and they delighted to the day in trying to game him into receiving impromptu gifts. Evidently, he'd only succeeded in turning it around.

Relief flooded him, and he handed off the hot dish carefully to ease the transition. "You're welcome. I hope it's good." Went unsaid was that he'd not tried it himself. There wasn't any reason for her to suspect that he hadn't, besides the undisturbed appearance of the dish. Maybe it was terrible and that's why it had appeared in his hand, the vendor hawking their wares to any unsuspecting or absentminded passer-bye.

Who could say.

That flush of relief settled to a low ebb, buoyed by their exchange. Conversational rules were something Vigot knew well, and had only gained a better understanding of in his position as Steward. It was... good, to engage, he decided. This person held no bias for or against him, and didn't know the heavy reasoning for his return. Ostensibly, she wasn't after his money, either, and the transactional nature of their conversation had already been addressed. "I was born here," he stated, gaze sweeping briefly out to pass overhead of the crowd, about the stall covers, the myriad alleys, the wall. "This vendor sells in Meols as well. I am only just returning."

Perhaps she was of high enough circle standing that there was the expectation of knowing a face - many, many people passed before Vigot's eyes as Steward, and although he wasn't expected to retain more than the barest of information about them, he still called upon himself to go a bit beyond. Relations were often bolstered in the little details, and having to go through introductions more than once tended to have the opposite effect.

"Vigot Thidrandisson, Steward of Meols," he continued, leaning forward to bow as much as etiquette and the space provided by the crowd would allow without being improper. He tried to avoid jabbing people with his chin where at all possible. "Are you of the city?" And baton passed. He gave himself a soft mental applause for minimal fumbling with a lady who seemed to be made of better manners and greater strength, although her caste appeared to mirror his. Always a pleasant experience to meet another Healer. If worse came to worse, Vigot could opine about work with the best of them.

3
Norr Province / Re: Home for the Mourning Days
« on: November 01, 2020, 11:04:29 PM »
Over the - very brief - interaction, Vigot could find no reason for an apology, and chose to acknowledge it with a twitch of his eyebrows and nothing else. He was more than used to being frowned at, and didn't know definitively she'd intended to frown at him at all. Perhaps more frowning at strange men was warranted - beyond Sigrunn's recent attempted medical failure, Vigot wasn't abreast with the civil politics of the city like he was with Meols. It wasn't his responsibility.

It felt like a glaring error, not knowing.

He blinked down at the dish, which appeared to him at once perfectly acceptable and at the same time supremely unappetizing. Maybe he'd seek out a bread vendor, if they were out yet. His stomach twisted at the idea of eating anything, but something less rich might stay down better.

"I've lost the appetite for it," if he'd had it in the first place. It felt more like he'd agreed to the purchase by rote because it was the polite thing to do. "Returning it seemed tactless." Doable, of course, but it was as likely to be thrown out as eaten by the proprietor. He glanced back, debating. Maybe it would be stolen - a strange thing to hope for, and ultimately not worth any prospective punishment.

"Apologies, Lady. I can find someone else. Your hands looked cold." If not for his gloves, a gift of Hala's, Vigot was sure his own would be. Weather or not he would care was different, but the little puffs of steam that came out with his breaths were tell enough. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to both you." His attention skittered over the crowd, the stalls, the items, looking for escape. He recognized the traders stamp on the stall, even if the face manning the stall wasn't one of the ones he was used to seeing in Meols. "This vendor is better, for silk. Their cargo travels more securely than their competition, and they don't inflate their prices to cover the loss." He threw out, an effort to leave the lady better off than when he'd so rudely interrupted her shopping.

He'd have time to beat himself up about it later, his failing social graces and how poor a representative of his Queen he was, but right the he just felt like he'd taken a step too far in a lake, the water rising more quickly than he'd been ready for. He didn't want the strange, tumultuous numb panic sloshing inside him to affect anyone else. But he didn't want to be alone, either. He was caught, pinned in place by hot meat products and the confused eyes of a woman he didn't know.

4
Norr Province / Home for the Mourning Days
« on: October 28, 2020, 04:04:38 PM »
It had been some time since Vigot had been home. His family had been supportive of his move, of course, and he had been diligent in keeping in contact as frequently as his schedule allowed. His letters might not have been the longest - Astrid and his mother were far more verbose - but he had kept up with them. It was why their bundled letters had not been a surprise. They always stacked them by order of how they should be read, and there were always entreaty to visit in varying degrees.

Astrid's letter had been damp with tears when he'd finished, even though he'd followed her instruction to breathe in the middle.

He'd entered his request for a leave of absence that same day, and left the following morning, with instructions delivered to his staff regarding where to forward whatever important mail might come in. They were competent. He trusted he wouldn't return to a burning husk of a city.

Travel south had been swift by skyship, even if the vessel had been packed. Travel expenses had gone up after... everything, but he hadn't cared about the tight quarters. He'd needed to get back.

Only to immediately find himself balking at the idea of addressing the situation while the ship descended. He'd debated, briefly, sending ahead to his family, letting them know of his arrival, but he wanted time, too, to face the numbness that had bloomed in his chest. It'd been sometime since he'd walked the Reric gate markets. He'd brought gifts from Meols, but he couldn't bring himself to submit himself to the attention of his family just yet. He knew his sisters would be more than willing to take him by the hand and lead him around, acting at once as entourage and tour guide, and it was attention he looked forward to but couldn't yet face.

Instead he followed the crowd, weaving away from the air dock into the mass that seethed around the North Gate.

Passing form stall to stall, squeezing between shoulders, weaving around children, Vigot found himself unable to truly engage. None of the wares were distracting enough, or the hawkers convincing enough. He found himself standing in front of a food stall, holding a dish he didn't remember paying for, looking at something he wasn't sure he could eat, let alone wanted to. The void inside felt only that much more present surrounded by the bustling market, and Vigot wanted, very suddenly, to simply bury himself in the snow and wait out the pain.

Unable to pursue that line of action, he addressed a more immediate issue: the hot food he'd apparently purchased in his fugue state wasn't something he wanted to waste. Turning to his closest neighbor, not really paying attention to who that happened to be, he asked, "Would you like this? I've changed my mind."

5
Sr Province / Re: Steward! Oh Steward!
« on: June 14, 2019, 06:56:35 PM »
He nodded. It sounded like these kidnappers operated much like pirates did. It made the most sense, in a sick way, to target those areas where communication between the people and the city was limited.

There's a pressure in his jaw at her words, and his pen gave a sharp crack. Years. How many lost, then? How may families broken? "Apologies, lady," he mumbled at the display of anger and surprise. Provisions - one dozen. He hoped the number would be smaller, but his Queen's simmering anger and his own gut feeling made him believe otherwise.

He watched her debate, running scenarios in his own head as well. A Southern ally indeed. The big cats were unlikely to make so many simply vanish, and the Eyriens took their own blood purity too seriously to risk wingless spawn with a short lived Blood. "Little Terreille is diverse enough that Glacians passing through might not be noticed. Easier to hide foreign captives among foreign faces." Even with their shaky footing in regards to trades, Little Terreille prided itself on being a place of welcome. Surely they would want to know of people missing from their neighbors lands? "How many might they have lost,if they are in this position as well?" After all, the very reason that it would be possible to hide the passage of stolen peoples made Little Terreille ripe for the same thievery. Perhaps they would be willing to pool their resources if they recognized the potential threat within their borders.

"We will need to speak to our captains." Who had been docked long enough to be fit to leave again, who could they trust to be discreet about their intentions? "Find who has enough crew fit to travel South for an extended journey." He took down a few names, adding healers to the list. "We can have an outline for a crew planned within the week. Two at most, and keeping a weather eye." It would be a risk to send them out when the weather was turning, but inactivity had apparently let their people be stolen right out from under their noses for years, and Vigot couldn't help but think of his own sisters, and knew he'd throw himself into any storm to find them.

6
Sr Province / Re: Steward! Oh Steward!
« on: April 18, 2019, 01:14:51 AM »
"Which villages?" he asked, falling into stride with her seriousness. How far away were these reports? How quickly could he reach out to his sisters, make sure they were safe, see if they'd be willing to ask around, maybe.

Airship was what he wrote while she spoke. Provisions, at least, what, two weeks for the crew. In addition to rations and, likely, clothing for the missing. But how many?

He stalled at the mention of her niece. Darkness. "Months? Was she..." how to put it tactfully, "first?" Even that felt too blunt, a saw for something that called for a scalpel.

Vague, was what it felt like. Trying to grasp the shape of a thing the dark with one hand. He paused his notes while he flipped through the mental books he kept of their storehouses. A flick of Craft set one of the knick-knacks on his desks into motion, a little sphere with concentric rings around it that spun at the corner of his eye. It made a little low humming sound, almost musical, that Vigot found was easy to turn into background noise while he thought.

"We need a direction," he said at last, looking at her solemnly. "Can't throw a ship into the dark and call it good odds. We need to talk to the Sjefs. Find out how many are missing and how many got lost in the snow." That was the politest euphemism he knew for 'dead', and it still felt too flippant, especially if 'missing' turned into something more sinister. Taken by the wind, was his grandmother's favorite, but he felt like that, too, weighed the mind too heavily toward a grim outcome.

He leaned back, scratching a few more notes before flipping his pen over his fingers, not entirely satisfied with what he saw. "I can give you numbers, but they'll be rough. Arkyn might not be satisfied, until we know more."

7
Shalador Archives / Re: Walking shadows
« on: April 16, 2019, 11:14:55 PM »
Vigot laughed, feeling lighter. Maybe he aught to pull back on the drinking, but it felt good to ease into being sociable. It was liberating, and he knew he'd be teased about it by the delegation if he told them, but he was forming inter-territory friendships. Being able to speak complex sentences without stuttering over them would help. "There's not so much travel as to muddle blood. Our elders always know." Everything, constantly, all the damn time. Vi's direct grandmother and not-so-direct aunts and uncles were tremendous meddlers. "I imagine family likes to meddle in matchmaking here, too."

He That made him blink and then squint down at the fish with speculative attention, curious. What little teeth they must have then. "Well," he said, affecting the type of mock solemnity one can only have when teasing, "I will do my best not to let you fall to fish this night." He patted Leon's shoulder, a touch of healing Craft across his palm to make his meaning clear. Vigot was sure he could heal some fish bites.

"You sound like one of my sisters, all of full of questions. Always learning." Vigot had gotten comfortable with healing, and his hobbies were hobbies -- he didn't pursue them with the same passion that his sisters tended to hunt their entertainment, and he felt it was likely the same with Leon. Stewarding was taxing enough, Vi had grown to prefer pastimes that let him not think.

Maybe the drink was getting to him, because that was a word he hadn't heard before. Was that a word? "Ayacayia?" he repeated, knowing he mangled it and not feeling too terrible about it. How many vowels did that have? What would one even look like? One could be half Shaladorian and half Glacian, after all, and it wasn't something that would be definitively noticeable. He shuddered at the idea of a flesh colored fish man, all unblinking eyes and lipless mouths. And the teeth, eugh, Darkness. He downed a cracker and then half his glass when his mouth proved too dry to swallow. "And what is that?"

8
Shalador Archives / Re: Walking shadows
« on: February 05, 2019, 02:45:53 AM »
He hummed in agreement, nodding. "Many generations live together." His sisters, his mother, his father, at least four aunts and uncles, cousins, grandparents. Constant children underfoot, and always chatter.

He beamed at the appraisal of his tattoos. If there was anyone Vi would not want freedom from, it was his sisters.

However, Vigot shook his head."They are still married. Sometimes a body desires another without the heart changing. And they share." His parents hadn't been notably promiscuous with either other couples or individuals, but he'd seen enough. And there was enough difference between him and his sisters that debating who one's alternate father might be had been a bit of a game when they were younger. Like spotting animal tracks or seeing who could gut a fish the fastest.

Heat rose in his cheeks at the praise, and he followed Leon gamely down to stairs, buzzing with pleasure at himself and at the alcohol in his veins. There was no discernible difference between one step and the next to Vigot, but he sat anyway, following Leon's attention to the pond and the silver fish there. They weren't something he'd seen in Glacia, and their flickering bodies made interesting shadows against the witchlights.
"Some of the fish in Glacia do have teeth," Vi supplied, gazing at them. The shadows and the water were fascinating. "Always good to know what bit you." He flexed a hand, thinking back to a dozen nicks and cuts, different blades meaning just little changes in mending.

That same hand pulled the cool edge of Craft to his fingertips at the sudden appearance of a servant, drawing up tight as a coil while he watched them deposit the tray and leave. He relaxed when the footsteps faded, and reached only to refill his glass. "Why are you so fascinated by them? What can be learned of fish?" Surely no person could swim like them, although maybe they could learn to hold their breath. And there were those Glacians who liked to submerge themselves in the water where the ice was thin. Lots of treating for frostbite and chills, then.

9
Sr Province / Re: Steward! Oh Steward!
« on: January 21, 2019, 09:39:08 PM »
Steam rose from the tea beside Vigot's pens. Light from the window pooled in, cool and bright. He'd been up for several hours, looking over the accounts, organizing the books. He'd just leaned back in his chair, tea in hand, steam fogging up his glasses, when one of his hallway alarms went off. He had time to take one bracing breath before Astrid breached the door, knocking more as courtesy than formality, and then was in a chair.

Astrid was like a whirlwind in Vigot's little office. She was also the reason he'd actually gotten chairs, and not just little stools to pull out when he was feeling particularly hemmed in and didn't want people to visit for too long.

He looked over his glasses and his tea at her, blinking, already tracking back to the most recent reports from their districts. He didn't think there'd been anything amiss, but Astrid had always been quick to intercept missives, about anything and everything, and perhaps she'd caught something before it'd made its way to him. "Lady Astrid," he said. He knew she didn't care about the formalities so much, but it was hard to kick the training, even if the 'my friend' did bring a little smile to his face.

But whatever it was seemed serious, her normal, Darkness-may-care attitude not so present. He set his tea down, one hand automatically going to his most updated ledger, the other to a blank page in a different book so that he might separate out pertinent information. "What kind of something? Which numbers?"

10
Shalador Archives / Re: Walking shadows
« on: January 02, 2019, 11:02:25 PM »
That was interesting. Vigot turned more toward Leon, intrigued. His enthusiasm was something Vi found comforting, too. Always easier to speak to people who liked what they were speaking about. Also meant less talking he had to do, in general.

"In a way." He thought, although maybe more an oral history of marriages than anything else. "Families stay together more, I think. Living together." How best to explain grandmother's hands and his cadre of aunts and uncles, in and out over the years he'd been in the sick house. Or a father, tender but more of a friend. Comfortable, easy. Big. "Best tracked through our mothers." He switched his drink from one hand to the other, using his right to shove up the sleeve of his sweater. The dark lines of his sister's names curved over his skin, and he traced his youngest sister's name absently.

"Children of my mother. Our father may have others." Very likely did, although Vi had never cared to find out. It'd never mattered. He'd grown up surrounded by cousins and friends. It wasn't something that had warranted too much worry when he was young. Maybe if he decided to marry anyone from his home city they would check lineages.

Vi's eyes followed his companion's toward the closest garden wall. Curious to see something growing in what he was used to seeing both much larger and covered in snow. Cold enough to pull at one's skin, if one was dumb enough or dared to press exposed flesh to it. "Out, mostly. Wolves and snow cats can make easy game of a child left unattended." Few had he seen or treated that had survived such attacks. The farming villages had healer's particularly handy in healing animal wounds. "Sometimes bears." But rarer still, that.

He smiled slightly, used to the brand of look that Leon sent him. Even some of the Glacian party had looked at him askance when he'd come out in a spelled sweater. Likely he would pare down to something lighter the longer he stayed, but. More a matter of comfort, just then, and liking the ability to hide. Feeling a sliver of his tension ease out at "my friend", Vi took a sip of his drink and confided, "A tactful application of cooling spells does wonders." And it was unlikely he wouldn't be able to heal whatever damage the heat might do to him.

11
Shalador Archives / Re: Walking shadows
« on: December 11, 2018, 11:10:41 PM »
"Indeed," Vigot was not much a wine man, victim of his father's unfortunately indiscriminate palate. What Vi liked was a much shorter list than what he didn't, and he was pleased that there was only a slight edge of the bitterness he found so off-putting in most alcohols. It'd be a dangerous if he indulged too much as the night wore on.

Vigot had suffered all kinds of terrible flavors while his siblings and cousins learned to cook, and the bitterness of a little wine was definitely not enough to keep him out of his cups. Distancing himself from the hawk-eyed servers was likely a wise choice.

Walking through the door and outside was a welcome relief, and it felt like the air in Vi's lungs was already fresher. Even if the lingering psychic scents of the gathering felt knit into his sweater. The hand not cradling the glass moved up to touch the collar of his sweater, resisting the urge to pull it away from his throat and instead brushing his knuckles over his collar bones. Hopefully it didn't look as awkward as he felt.

"A priest and an archivist," he said, curious. It seemed an obvious pairing when presented to him, but Vi couldn't remember any priest or priestess ever also expressing an involvement with history as part of their work. "Work or passion first?"

Far away indeed. Before coming as part of the delegation he hadn't traveled farther than his families small hunting cabin. He hoped it didn't show. "Mm." The distance seemed equally very large and very small, like, if he wanted to, he could just  "So far. It's different, being in a city without walls." And snow, and all the buildings were built differently, and -- the list was extensive, surely. "Not so many layers, I've found." Not that anyone would be able to tell with him. He smiled a little at his own awkwardness, fingers of his free hand fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

12
Shalador Archives / Re: Walking shadows
« on: November 20, 2018, 09:10:45 PM »
Vigot's eyes tracked the floating drinks, slipping away and then back up. It felt like the noise was turning from distinct words into the crush of snow between boots, undefined and heavy. "You did," Vigot murmured, attention coming back together. "But it's not your fault." Far be it for him to blame someone else on his own attention being too far diverted from what was literally right in front of him.

He smiled a little at the courtesy. "I suppose. Thank you," The glass was cool in his hands, fingers wary of the fragility of the glass. He felt off kilter, clumsy, and would rather be too secure than end up spilling it on himself or the carpet. Or the stranger. Sipped lightly, weighing his options.

A place to people watch? Vigot eyed the chair, then the crowd, then the drink in his hands. He couldn't deny the appeal of it, to a degree. It would be worth it to blend into the furniture and let his nerves settle, avoid the crowd as much as he could while still watching the interpersonal by-play, the eddies of personal boundaries and politics informing social interaction.

And yet...

Vi turned cautiously hopeful eyes toward the stranger, one corner of his moth ticking up. "Maybe you could point me in the direction of fresh air as well? I find the crowd," he scrunched his nose, "very present." That was a tactful way to put it. He didn't want to go wandering around the grounds unsupervised, but it would take much more than the polite drinks they were serving here to smooth away the rough edge of anxiety that threatened to snap his jaw shut like a trap. One person, even one as dark as the lord before him, would be easier to handle than the crowd.

He shook himself a little then, realizing his folly. "And I've been remiss in my etiquette twice over." Tilting forward, not quite so low as a bow, he gave, "Vigot Thidrandisson, Steward to Lady Heartsbane, of the Court of Meols, Glacia."

13
Shalador Archives / Re: Walking shadows
« on: November 13, 2018, 12:12:11 AM »
Maybe Vigot had been a little premature in deciding he could do part of the mingling by himself. It wasn't that he didn't like the people, or that he wasn't interested in the conversations that were happening. He'd even been engaging politely with a handful of them, although maybe he had been partially hiding behind a glass of something sweet and not nearly strong enough to smooth out his socially awkward edges.

There were just quite a few more people than he'd prepared himself for, and he could feel his words drying up like so much brittle winter grass.

It'd seemed an easy enough task, sitting among the delegation that had come across from Glacia, surrounded by people he was familiar with. Or at least people who didn't take his straightforward responses to their questions with affront or confusion. He'd come in layers, unwilling to shed too much around people he wasn't even acquaintances with, and when someone had asked why he'd been in a sweater that was 'almost unseasonal', apparently "I'd been cold", wasn't an acceptable response.

He had been cold. And now there were cooling spells cast on his sweater to keep him that way in a climate that was markedly warmer than what Vi was used to. There was little doubt that he'd eventually acclimate, but just then Vigot was thankful not only for the manufactured chill but for the borderline casual hems of his sleeves. He could hide the activity of his hands in his layers and no one would be the wiser. It was only his ability to fiddle with the fabric that kept him from reaching from where his Rose rested below his collar bones.

As it was, Vi had been edging out of the way of the bulk of the mingling people for the better part of ten minutes, angling toward a corner of the room that was occupied by both chairs and an artful arrangement of shadows. It wasn't until he was closer that he realized those shadows made a man, and then that man was standing, and Vigot found himself simultaneously closer than he thought he was and right in the way of the easiest path away from the corner without edging past the crowd.

"Apologies." he murmured, stepping back and bowing. "I didn't see you." He should have, probably, but it wasn't something he was going to linger on. He edged a little closer to the wall when another servant with a tray of glasses breezed by. Maybe if he tried hard enough he could vanish himself into the wallpaper and get a moment to breathe.

@dergon

14
Glacia / Thidrandisson, Vigot
« on: October 31, 2018, 01:32:40 AM »
    Vigot Thidrandisson


    The Basics


    Full Name: Vigot Thidrandisson
    Age: 32
    Gender/Pronouns: male/he/him

    Ethnicity: SL
    Birthplace: Glacia
    Current Location: Meols, Glacia
    Profession: Court Steward

    Caste: Warlord Healer
    Birthright Jewel: White (100)
    Offering Jewel: Rose (74)

    Face Claim: Oliver Jackson-Cohen



    The Body


    Height: 63
    Body Type: Fit
    Hair Color: Dirty Blond
    Eye Color: Blue

    Appearance:
    Vi is a big, sand colored puppy. He bundles up, laces his snowshoes tight, and likes big sweaters. He carries himself like hes trying to be smaller than he is, shoulders rounded and body curled in. Hes fit but he wasnt always, found putting muscle and keeping it a struggle and it shows. Big blue eyes and a crooked smile soften a face made of strong lines, rounded out by ever present scruff. Hands calloused from years of work, Vi has the names of his direct sisters tattooed in gently twisting lines that run from wrist to elbow on his left forearm, while his right is done up in rings for healing, good fortune, blessings, guidance, strength, and spiritual fortitude.


    The Mind


    Craft Strengths: 15pts
    Healing Webs
    Diagnostic Sight
    Craft Healing
    Regenerative Webs
    Craft Brews
    Craft Weaknesses: Shielding, Scent Cleansing, Vermin Warding

    Personality:
    Oldest of five and the only son, Vigot takes to responsibility with a gentle, firm hand. Well versed all things handy, from stitching to braiding to skinning animals to boning fish. Vi took to healing when his sisters proved rowdier than him, steady hands and placid temper. He shaped up to be a homebody, liking more to be near the activity of people rather than in the middle of it.

    Vigot doesnt talk much, used to being washed over by a loud family. Hes more of an actions guy, shows his love by mending and making and whittling. Hes good at splitting his attention, is a good ear and a good shoulder for grievances. V only really unfolds when someone under his wing gets in a scrap or needs extra muscle, and then hes all precision. Vigot might not be adept at battle Craft to any degree, but growing up in Glacia definitely doesn't leave one without some knowledge of what to hit to hurt.


    The Backstory


    Family:
    • Sibbe Styrkolldottir | Mother | Yellow to Summer-sky healer
    • Thidrandi Firthgestsson| Father | Tiger Eye to Summer-sky Caste
    • Astrid | Sister | Summer-sky to Green Caste
    • Aslief | Sister | White to Rose Caste
    • Sigrunn | Sister | Summer-sky to Green Caste
    • Halla | Sister | Rose to Purple Dusk
    Caste[/list]

    History:

    Vigot was brought into the world on one of the calmest nights of winter, quiet and cool. His parents worried over him immediately, because Vi mirrored the night too much. Didnt cry, too cold. Too early, with what some considered a labor too easy. Family and neighbors swarmed him, and although he persisted in his silence it was not immediately apparent that he was not ill.

    In the sick house Vigot stayed, worried over by family and healers who kicked up more fuss than he. Their healing webs could divine no real cause for his silence, or his chill, or, some time later, his ability to eat and eat and eat far past what other children his age would. When he persisted without change, Sibbe elected instead to move him away from the ill and in with her elders, who welcomed him with open arms. Many of them being healers themselves, Sibbe and Thidrandi were comforted in the knowledge that while they were away their son would be well looked after.

    So it was that Vi grew in stumbling starts, bundled in furs, sitting with family elders, big eyes watching, ears open to their tales. Vigot's world was one immersed in the history of his family more than anything else in those early years, cultivating a sweet singing voice at the knees of his aunts and uncles and grandparents. It was there that he learned handcrafts as well, whittling and weaving and stitching. It was also here that the first seed of his fascination with healing craft, watching his relative weave web after web, either for himself or for others.

    Nothing was ever found to be truly wrong with Vi, just that he had a seemingly endless appetite and had to wear more layers than other children when playing in the snow. He was allowed to go to school, although he was frequently plied with brews for his health and appetite by aunties and uncles and all manner of family. Among his relatives and neighbors Vi's constitution was well known. It was a common joke that his Birthright, when he took it, wouldn't be a gem at all, simply a plate spelled to never empty.

    Between starting school and taking his Birthright Vigot was blessed with two more sisters from Sibbe, and he took to them like a house on fire. Although not terrible at socializing with children his age, Vi found it easier to speak, when he chose to, around those to whom he was related. These sisters were showered with little crafted gifts, carved wooden animals and clothing with increasingly intricate embroidered embellishments.

    Whine Vigot's Birthright did finally come to pass and he walked away with a White in hand, all his family could do was scratch their heads in confusion. They'd assumed his rampant appetite was due to the potential of a dark jewel, but now they were at a loss. Jewel color meant little to Vi, who had already found himself knee deep in healing craft tutors and was far more interested in what he could do with precision than with might.

    Vi stayed in school until he was sixteen more because he enjoyed it than for lack of suitable mentors, and, having sprouted considerably and finally reaching a balance of brews and food that was allowing him to put on and keep muscle, was a quiet shadow over his sisters. He never had a mean word for anyone, but there was a look about him that meant trouble for anyone who crossed his kin. It helped that, despite his sunny disposition, Vi's face naturally fell to scowl.

    He began his apprenticeship under his grandmother, who put his sewing and knife skills to good use in those early days, when his Craft was still wild beneath his hands. Vigot was good at the small things, at binding flesh back together with thread, at soothing, and holding a thrashing man while his bones were set. It took several years before she felt him competent with craftless healing, and then began his true training in the healing arts, rather than the small lessons that had supplemented his learning.

    Flourished his family would say later, Vigot's hands warm against their skin. Even the uneven temper of his caste did not weigh enough against the way healing seemed to come to him.

    Stewardship, on the other hand, felt a bit like a happy accident.

    It had been Sibbe and his grandmother who contrived to get Vigot to train beneath the Court's Steward, seeing in him the patient hand that would benefit from time away from being immersed in the sick house. Having been dedicated to healing over a decade, Vi allowed them to nudge him along toward studying beneath the Court's Steward, allowing that he still spent half his time attending to healing.

    Vigot, shy and a little nervous about the change, took to the apprentice duties of Stewardship well, if slowly, due more in part to his own hesitance to step onto a larger stage. He was one of several Steward apprentices, and although he was never close friends with the others it wasn't an environment that he hated. It was just strange being so far from his family during studies, even if they were still close enough to visit when they weren't busy.

    He was, of course, prompted by the Steward to apply with his associates, it was just more a surprise when he was chosen. Vi had never seen himself as a particularly stand out candidate, overshadowed frequently by his family by sheer volume, and it had been a thrill to be taken up as Steward by the new Queen when his predecessor elected to step down.


    The Writer


    Player Name: Kayndred or Kay
    Player Pronouns: She/her/hers
    Timezone: -8
    Contact: PM, Discord, email
    How did you find us?: Much Digging, but through Rise of the Believers' affiliates links

    Inactivity Instructions: Archive, preferably. If something arises where hes required I dont mind that he be put up for adoption, killed as a last resort.
    Roleplay Sample:


    Pages: [1]

    Welcome to Witchlight

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