Hemin Achlys
what is death —
Hemin sauntered towards the outline of the Art-isan's guild, the overcast sky a gentle roof above his head. The last time he'd visited the guild, he was half-a-head shorter, with receding acne and sun-burns. He was told to wait outside then, as his mother floated in an out before the moon lost a sliver. A guild she had visited for a favor, a guild she'd broken ties with but Hemin had not forgotten about. When he had visited last, he could not remember, but he held a splintered arrow in his one hand and a fistful of hope in the other.
The Hollowed Ground. He called this place home, but other than the few streets between his home and the family shop, he was a stranger to the rest. His resolve grew to change this fact, even if it happened ever so slowly. The front, looming doors of the guild grew larger as he moved in closer, drawn by curiosity.
A man waving iron in the air caught his attention, and he scratched the back of his ears. He was nervous? Excited? Self-questioning was more like it, as he wasn't quite sure how to get this man's attention.
"Hey. Heyy! Cool night, ain't it?" He waved his hope filled fist at the man. He also shined the arrowhead in his other hand against his badger-fur lined scarf.
The Hollowed Ground. He called this place home, but other than the few streets between his home and the family shop, he was a stranger to the rest. His resolve grew to change this fact, even if it happened ever so slowly. The front, looming doors of the guild grew larger as he moved in closer, drawn by curiosity.
A man waving iron in the air caught his attention, and he scratched the back of his ears. He was nervous? Excited? Self-questioning was more like it, as he wasn't quite sure how to get this man's attention.
"Hey. Heyy! Cool night, ain't it?" He waved his hope filled fist at the man. He also shined the arrowhead in his other hand against his badger-fur lined scarf.
— but life's flattering shadow?
