Carving of the Homebound Totem

[Royal Peasant 444]

Spoiler

 

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Carving
Of the Homebound Totem
A short little story of the creation of a totem from a man who's home has always been in the snow and ice.

Roylan was many things. A large man being a highlander, a man who tended to speak his mind, a man who preferred to the comfort of the wild and nature to the noise and busy streets of a town. But even he could feel that his current actions were not the smartest, even if he was being stubborn. He had a den. One carved out underground, a little, a little dark. But a den all the same. Yet...he couldn't be comfortable there. It was too warm. Too humid. Everything just felt so...heated. Rest wouldn't come easy to him no matter how much he tried to simply lay down and let it take him. Perhaps it was the new den, or the climate that was making it so difficult for him to close his eyes and simply rest. He would adapt and settle into it with time if he simply closed his eyes and tried again, and again. 

But..he thought of a new way. One inspired by words spoken. To bring a touch of his home, the cold, the frost, the ice to his new den. So he set out, mounted upon his mare Spots, coaxing them forward with a stroke of their mane and riding out back to the north. Back to the comfort he knew for so long. Reaching the snow covered lands, and the ice crowned peaks he took out his pick. And got to work. Chiselling ice in large chunks, gathering them into sacks that weighed him down. Weighed down by the ice he headed home, with the distant sound of wolves through the falling snow to bid his farewell to the lands.

But the return trip...proved that he didn't take everything into account. The rain that had been falling for a year drenched his form, and soaked into his packs, melting the ice. By the time he had gotten to his den half of it had already been lost to the warm waters that fell from above. "That....could of gone better. Alright. This isn't going to work....I need. Furs. I need too...ah! Pack it with snow! That should keep the cold." 

With a new idea forming, he left the ice at the bottom of his den. Hoping the stone would help keep it cool and preserve it as he went out again. Discovering signs of blood staining the snow, and the silent sound of the wind blowing faster upon him. "The wolves must of eaten well for their supper." Letting the land bury the signs of death deep under the picture perfect snow, he once again got to work. Gathering ice. Packing it. And covering it with furs to make sure that the warm waters didn't reach it. 

The trips began to repeat...back, and forth, back, and forth. Riding out and dragging the frozen waters into the cave. It began to melt, gathering up into a pool of cold, icy liquid, trickling down into the bottom of his den. The cold was a comfort. Refreshing, soothing against his body as he began to work, feeling as if the ice was singing to him he slowly began to carve. Getting the shape out. The image of the largest, most powerful beast of his home filling his mind as he began to work. 

"This...doesn't feel right." The first attempt of the stature, of the totem was done. Giving a basic image of the beast carved out in ice Yet it was missing so much. It was missing..."Tusks, eyes, a foundation to show strength...It needs to be more than just ice. But what to use...."

Realization came from a overheard conversation. The artisan guild! He had forgotten that it had existed. With a renewed drive he slipped into the building. And sought materials. Ideas. Glimpses of what had been made that could push the right vision through his mind. And he found it, in quartz. Soon his creation had legs of pure white pillars to stand up from, feet that pressed into the growing cold pool of water that slowly grew from below. Tusks beginning to form and grow out. 

And for eyes, he squeezed in two barrels. Giving a better foundation. A better view to witness. 

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And so it was shown. Both to a grandfather and to a wild bear of a woman with red hair. Presenting it and getting words of wisdom. A idea of what could be done with the totem. What the next path could be. And yet...
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"It still doesn't feel right..." He felt more comfortable now. More able to relax and settle within this place. Having moved several of his catches hidden in logs and roots into his den. Yet the totem, still didn't feel right. It needed more. It needed more soul worked into it. Time passed, lessons came in the arts he was being taught for a trail of patience. Letting his mind think. Letting it listen to the song of the ice..and begin to work again. 

Tusks of pure white were further pronounced and hanging over the pond of frozen water that was starting to grow life within it. Designs began to be worked into the ice, cracking it, chipping, and carving designs into place. The trunk of the mammoth he was bringing to life gaining the most focus, the most design work. Having coal worked into the ice to darken its texture. A new discovery within the Artisan guild of a strange new sand, a sand that burnt blue sparked a new idea. Guiding him further on.

The barrels were removed. Lanterns of glowing blue were set in the caverns of the totems sockets, slowly glowing their pale light. A campfire was set upon the trunk itself. Lit, with a faint light that flickered up and flowing in a unseen breeze. With one final look...he felt he was done. He felt he had it right, at last. 

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To be sure, he sought out visitors. A lady of wisdom and bushes who felt a touch of comfort, of home at the sight. His teacher in the arts, who encouraged his own growing inspirations in the field. Taking in his reaction.  And finally...feeling like it was complete. 
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Yet as he sat on his log. Gazing at the totem, feeling a sense of calm and listening to the sounds of the ice and cold waters. One thought filled his mind. "...What is a vision quest?"

[WestCarolina 1779]

Roylan had surprised the Mali'ame. Her entire life, never had she met a valah so interested or devoted to learning about the elnarsae'ame, the wild animal spirits. He guided Miven to a cavern below his home, and there it was. Taller than they both stood was some tusked animal the Bruin had never met before. "A mammoth," the man explained to the curious druid. And there did she offer a vision quest for her new friend, perhaps he'll be able to discover more about these creatures. 

[DragonofTaters 469]

A small woman, lithe of frame and light of heart, tread quietly into the hidden space. The chill air nipped her face, breath hanging before her in frozen mist. Rather than find this unpleasant, it brought a warm peace to her crimson gaze. She didn't seem able to keep back the grin that lifted her features as she gaze upon the depiction of the great beast. With light steps she crossed the room, wading through cold waters to reach the base of the icy carving. Murmured words, then silence, a woman bent low, simply existing in this space. This piece of tundra buried beneath tropical shores. 

Later, quiet would return. The red woman gone. Nothing to show she'd ever been, nothing disturbed....save a few small offerings. Carefully carved pieces of rock and bone, brought from a far away land. A far away cold. But here, in the quiet repose beneath the Mammoth's gaze, they found home.