- Messages
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- Character Biography
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It had been a long time since Sparhawk had wandered the forests of the Reach. In earnest, it had been many years since he'd visited Alliria, tending to avoid it's taverns and innkeeps, in fear of being pickpocketed or robbed. However, it's greenery it where it showerd it's beauty. From it's lush, green landscapes, basking in the hot sun, to the grass and flowers, breathing in the plentiful air that freshened all that was nourished in it's cool breeze. The sky was as blue as a hot Flame, the sun - a bright amber place in the sky like a gemstone on a ring. The smell of bushes and leaves filled the senses, a motif to the irrefutably simple beauty of the wood.
Sparhawk however, was not there for sight-seeing. He had already seen most of Arethil, but these woods had been tracked many times by his footsteps; he knew them very well. Since his conversation with his Old friend, Teel, he'd realised that, perhaps, he'd have to put behind what had happened at Belgrath. Letting go however, was not as easy a task as it may have been in conversation. No. To come to terms with something of that magnitude, one must retrace their steps to the beginning, and look within themselves, asking the vital questions of life; who are you, and what do you expect to be?
Before he go on his quest, he knew he needed a material for something necessary to his journey.
A Staff.
Of course, he had still got his old one. It worked fine, and felt comfortable in his hands. But ever since he had broken it in half, something didn't seem right about it. It felt as if he had been someone else when he'd broken the staff, and Sparhawk when he had reformed it. It was no longer truly his, and would never perform the tasks he needed it to, simply not having the structure or capacity to hold such potent magics.
It was a task to find a material that could serve Sparhawk's purpose. He could of course simply make it out of a birch or an Oak, but then it'd be like anyone else's staff. Not that he would mind, but it wouldn't withstand the constant demand he would be putting it under, and would more than likely be torn asunder from higher magic usage.
He was walking into darker parts of the woods now, as the day began to wain. Shadows lurked from behind trees, branches cracking under unknown sources. It put Sparhawk at great unease; never truly knowing whether he was being followed or not. He didn't feel like using magic to check his surroundings. As a matter of fact, he didn't even really feel like using magic at all.
It'd been an odd feeling he didn't think on. His lust to cast magic and learn of it's higher-arts had more than dissipated since he'd left Gerra's company. Almost as if his will to carry on had been snatched away from him, as trade for the lives he had taken. A cruel justice indeed, Sparhawk thought, searching for a suitable material.
For now, he glared at a clearing, surrounded by tall, hearty trees, that seemed to climb and weave themselves through the roots of life that lay underneath the dirt and earth.
How long is this going to take...
Sparhawk however, was not there for sight-seeing. He had already seen most of Arethil, but these woods had been tracked many times by his footsteps; he knew them very well. Since his conversation with his Old friend, Teel, he'd realised that, perhaps, he'd have to put behind what had happened at Belgrath. Letting go however, was not as easy a task as it may have been in conversation. No. To come to terms with something of that magnitude, one must retrace their steps to the beginning, and look within themselves, asking the vital questions of life; who are you, and what do you expect to be?
Before he go on his quest, he knew he needed a material for something necessary to his journey.
A Staff.
Of course, he had still got his old one. It worked fine, and felt comfortable in his hands. But ever since he had broken it in half, something didn't seem right about it. It felt as if he had been someone else when he'd broken the staff, and Sparhawk when he had reformed it. It was no longer truly his, and would never perform the tasks he needed it to, simply not having the structure or capacity to hold such potent magics.
It was a task to find a material that could serve Sparhawk's purpose. He could of course simply make it out of a birch or an Oak, but then it'd be like anyone else's staff. Not that he would mind, but it wouldn't withstand the constant demand he would be putting it under, and would more than likely be torn asunder from higher magic usage.
He was walking into darker parts of the woods now, as the day began to wain. Shadows lurked from behind trees, branches cracking under unknown sources. It put Sparhawk at great unease; never truly knowing whether he was being followed or not. He didn't feel like using magic to check his surroundings. As a matter of fact, he didn't even really feel like using magic at all.
It'd been an odd feeling he didn't think on. His lust to cast magic and learn of it's higher-arts had more than dissipated since he'd left Gerra's company. Almost as if his will to carry on had been snatched away from him, as trade for the lives he had taken. A cruel justice indeed, Sparhawk thought, searching for a suitable material.
For now, he glared at a clearing, surrounded by tall, hearty trees, that seemed to climb and weave themselves through the roots of life that lay underneath the dirt and earth.
How long is this going to take...
