[center] [h1][color=orange][b][u]Kalmar[/u][/b][/color][/h1] [/center] [hr] Perched on a rock along the coast of the Hunter's Isle, Kalmar had resolved to complete one of his many unfinished tasks. He pulled out the chunk of wood and continue carving. On and on he worked, cutting, chipping, and whittling away with the Knife of Friendship, occasionally stopping to think about the next step, and imagining the final result in his head. Wood shavings littered the grass, and there were few sounds save for the scrape of metal on wood and the gentle lapping of the lake. It was quite peaceful, a peace which was only broken when he made a critical mistake that ruined his work, forcing him to toss it aside and start again. On his fourth attempt, he finally finished. He inspected the work, and when satisfied with the final result, he pocketed it. Afterward, he sat and reflected. One thought which kept returning was in regards to how the other gods had created mortals. Hermes, Arya, Liana, this 'Atalantia.' Some of them even went so far as to consider them their own children. Kalmar was not certain why. Arryn, for example, was no more his offspring than a troll or a griffin. Neither was that angel he helped Asceal create. Their relationships with their creators aside, however, Kalmar couldn't help but note that he had assisted in the education of no less than two of them. Hermes, briefly, and for a much longer period of time, Arya. And he had enjoyed teaching. Besides, even putting enjoyment aside, Liana and Atalantia were acting as advisors to their own respective masters, and Kalmar wondered if perhaps even he could benefit from such an advisor as well. With that, the Hunter rose to his feet, and went to work. [hr] [center][color=yellow][u]Day One[/u][/color][/center] The Mortal opened his eyes. Where was he? Who was he? What was he? How was he? The light was so bright. There was water nearby, and a forest, and standing before him was... a man. The man was tall, equal to him in height, with blond hair, dark green eyes, and a moustache. The man wore a series of pelts and animal skins, and in each hand he held a long, straight stick. Somehow he knew that this man had created him. The Creator tossed one of the sticks to him. He was barely able to catch it, and when he did he looked back at the Creator in confusion. Then the other stick slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He dropped his own weapon and doubled over onto the ground. [color=orange]"Defend yourself,"[/color] his creator barked sharply. [color=yellow]"I... uh..."[/color] he began to speak, only for his creator to whack him lightly on the leg. [color=orange]"Defend yourself!"[/color] So he did. He gripped the staff, rose to his feet, and maneuvered the staff to block into the path of an incoming strike. He succeeded, but his creator merely pushed it aside and then landed a sharp blow on his left shoulder. [color=orange]"Try again."[/color] He didn't. He turned and ran. But his creator was far faster than he could ever hope to be, and suddenly appeared in front of him, swiping out his legs with a single swing. Once again, he hit the grass, hard. [color=orange]"It is wise to avoid a fight with a stronger opponent. It is not wise to expose your back to a faster one. Stand, and try again."[/color] Once again, he retrieved his weapon, and stood. Thrice more he was sent to the ground, exchanging a blow or two before he was swiftly bested. He was sore all over, his body covered with grass, dirt, and mud, yet his creator kept insisting that he stand, and stand he did. Frustration and anger began to build up inside him. On his next attempt, he was able to block three blows in quick succession, and then, with a shout of rage, he swung wildly for his creator's head. It was a simple enough matter for his Creator to redirect the strike, and suddenly the butt of a staff was inches away from crushing the Mortal's throat. [color=orange]"That was better."[/color] The staff came away. [color=orange]"There is strength in you."[/color] [color=yellow]"Who... who am I?"[/color] His voice came out, weak, gruff, and hoarse. [color=yellow]"What is this?"[/color] [color=orange]"This is life. I made you so you could experience it. In order to experience it, you must survive. And in order to survive, you must be able to defend yourself."[/color] [color=yellow]"Why!?"[/color] he demanded angrily. The staff came, faster than ever before, and once again he was off his feet. His creator loomed over him. [color=orange]"I am Kalmar. As for who you are... I will give you a name when you earn it. Go. Drink water and wash yourself off."[/color] So he did. It was only after he drank that he realized he had been thirsty, and as he washed himself the water on his skin was soothing. He looked at his reflection in the water - wild and unkempt dark brown hair, deep blue eyes, pointed ears, a clean shaven face. Aside from those features he was almost identical to his Maker. When he stepped out of the water, he noticed that his Creator was sitting on a rock, completely silent, his eyes closed. Even as the Mortal came within a few feet, his Creator remained silent and unmoving. The staff was on the ground next to him. Gingerly and as stealthily as possible, the Mortal picked up the staff, reared back, and swung at his Maker's head. A hand shot out and stopped the staff midswing, gripping it tight. The Creator's eyes had opened, and fixed him with a hard glare. His own eyes widened in fear. [color=orange]"My focus may be miles away, but I am not completely senseless."[/color] Then the staff was wrenched from his grip. A blow caught him in the stomach, and as he bent over another struck his back, collapsing him onto the ground. [color=yellow]"Why?"[/color] he pleaded again. [color=orange]"I told you. You need to defend yourself. If you suffer now you will avoid suffering in the future. I do this to make you stronger."[/color] [color=yellow]"But why? Why do I need to defend myself!?"[/color] [color=orange]"Because the world has dangers,"[/color] the Creator spoke bluntly. [color=orange]"If you can't defend yourself, they will kill you."[/color] [color=yellow]"But why? Why are there dangers!?"[/color] [color=orange]"To make you stronger. To help you grow. Every challenge you overcome makes you more powerful. You can't see it now, but in time you will. If you want your life to be more than pain, you need to protect yourself."[/color] The Mortal recalled the soothing feeling of the water, and realized that there was in fact more to life than being relentlessly beaten by a chunk of wood. [color=yellow]"But what else is there?"[/color] he asked, still prone on the ground. [color=orange]"That is for you to find out."[/color] His creator knelt, and extended a hand. The Mortal flinched, only to realize that it did not carry a weapon, but was instead an open palm. [color=orange]"Take my hand."[/color] The Mortal took the outstretched hand, and was helped to his feet. [color=orange]"Come. It is getting dark. I will show you how to start a fire."[/color] [hr] [center][color=yellow][u]Day Two[/u][/color][/center] It had taken several attempts and much time, but in the end, the Mortal had managed it. He went to sleep warm, in some semblance of comfort. He woke with the sunrise shining in his eyes. He turned away, and realized that his Creator had been tending the fire all through the night. Yet, as soon as his Creator realized he was awake, the fire was summarily extinguished by a flurry of stamps and kicks. [color=orange]"Get up. Your training continues."[/color] The mortal grumbled, but did as he was told. Yet to his surprise he did not face more staff-fighting. His Creator only carried one staff, and a sharpened stone had been fixed to its end. He felt a fear well up inside him, but instead the spear was handed to him. [color=orange]"You need to eat,"[/color] his Creator said with customary bluntness. [color=orange]"Wade into the water and stab a fish."[/color] And so he did. Or at least, he tried. He waded in waist deep, stood perfectly still, and waited for a fish to come within spearing range, yet he kept failing. He looked back at the shore, where his Creator still waited and watched. [color=yellow]"Why can't you help me..."[/color] he muttered under his breath. [color=orange]"If I did, you wouldn't be able to survive without me,"[/color] his Creator's voice rang through his mind, startling him. He froze, then slowly turned back to his task, and continued waiting. More minutes passed. Then, a shape. He thrust at it, and to his astonishment, he struck true. [color=yellow]"I... I did it..."[/color] he waded back toward shore, the fish impaled at the end of his spear. [color=orange]"Well done,"[/color] his creator said, the rare compliment filling him with a sense of pride. Yet with the next instruction, his heart fell. [color=orange]"Now make a fire. Without my help."[/color] Eventually he managed that as well, and then, after cooking the fish, he was finally free to eat it. It tasted good, and he felt ravenously hungry. Once he was done, he looked up at his creator for further instruction. [color=orange]"You did well. Now pick up that staff. The sparring continues."[/color] [i]Oh no...[/i] They sparred throughout the day. He was still no match for his master, but he realized his skills were improving. Instead of only blocking two or three strikes, he now blocked as many as four or five. Instead of going down after one or two hits, he managed to stay on his feet and push the pain aside. Yet as the fighting continued, he felt the familiar rage begin to build up, and lashed out with greater aggression. His Creator sidestepped one such attack, and tripped him up with the staff. [color=orange]"Anger, and aggression, can be useful. But they can also be a hindrance. Master your anger. Do not let it master you."[/color] Then the fighting continued. It continued until he was so tired that he simply couldn't. The staff became too heavy to carry, his became liquid, his vision faded, and he was on the ground, blackness closing in. When he awoke, it was dark, save for a fire that crackled nearby. His Creator looked at him, then through him a freshly cooked fish. [color=orange]"I will name you Karamir."[/color] Karamir was so hungry that at first he didn't even care. It was only several mouthfuls later that he realized it. He had a name. [hr] [center][color=yellow][u]Day Three[/u][/color][/center] [color=orange]"Karamir. Come with me."[/color] Kalmar extended his right hand, a spear in his left. Karamir had only just finished eating breakfast - fish, yet again, not that he minded the taste. He didn't have anything else to compare it to. He looked up at Kalmar, and took the outstretched hand. Then, they began to fly. Karamir's eyes widened as the expanse of trees and waters passed beneath them. They were leaving the island! And he no longer had anything solid beneath him! [color=orange]"Master your fear,"[/color] Kalmar told him, cutting through his thoughts. [color=orange]"Listen to it, respect it, but do not let it rule you. It is another obstacle you must overcome. If you can't, you die."[/color] Karamir took a deep breath, and steeled himself. They made it to the other end of the lake, and Kalmar set him down in a vast grassland. [color=yellow]"Die?"[/color] Karamir asked in confusion as they walked, though somehow he already knew that it meant some sort of an end. A permanent one too. [color=orange]"When you stop living. Everything dies at some point. Even if you go your entire life without going hungry or taking a scratch, eventually your body will wear out and your soul will decay."[/color] Karamir blinked. That was... depressing. And terrifying. [color=yellow]"Why? What is the point in living if it all ends?"[/color] he asked. So, Kalmar told him. They existed to continue existing. Existing brought suffering, but also success. The success was what they lived for; the suffering was merely what helped them appreciate it. To give up was to lose, to survive was to win. They all lost in the end, but they would win as many victories as possible to meet their fate. Death, destruction, and suffering were all natural parts of life, to be resisted and overcome. They could not be permanently kept at bay, and even if they could, that would only bring weakness and stagnation. All this, Karamir learned, and he nodded along. It made sense, he realized. And so he resolved to learn, so he could succeed, and live as long as he can. But there was a more pressing issue. [color=yellow]"Why are we out here?"[/color] Karamir asked. [color=orange]"To continue your training."[/color] Kalmar said, then stopped. [color=orange]"Look."[/color] Up ahead was a pack of five wolves. Kalmar handed him the spear. [color=orange]"Prepare yourself."[/color] And with those words Kalmar pulled out his bow and loosed an arrow. It struck one of the wolves in the throat. The other three came running at them, but Kalmar kept calm and loosed another. Three remained. Another arrow was loosed, and another fell, but then the wolves were upon them. Or more accurately, upon Karamir. Karamir didn't run. The wolves were faster than he was, and if he turned his back he would die. Instead he raised the spear and skewered one of them... only for the final wolf to leap on top of him and pin him to the ground. Yet just before the beast could rip his throat out, an arrow struck it in the side of the head. [color=orange]"It is unwise to fight foes that outnumber you."[/color] Kalmar informed him, kicking the wolf off. [color=yellow]"Then why did you have me fight them!?[/color] Karamir yelled in frustration, rising to his feet. [color=orange]"To teach you a lesson. Normally you shouldn't seek out fights like that, but you did well. You stood your ground and you killed one. If it had been a lone wolf you wouldn't have needed my help."[/color] Kalmar told him. [color=orange]"And I also wanted you to know what it is like to face something that actually [i]wants[/i] to kill you,"[/color] he added flatly. [color=orange]"Now let me show you how to skin these."[/color] Half an hour later, they walked away with armloads of pelts and meat. [color=orange]"This is the last place you want to fight a pack of wolves,"[/color] Kalmar explained. [color=orange]"You can't outrun them, and they have superior numbers. I only brought you out here so you would know what it is like to come face to face with death - when something charges at you with intent to kill."[/color] [hr] [center][color=yellow][u]Day Four[/u][/color][/center] They had feasted on wolf meat, and Kalmar had told him how to handle the skins of recently killed animals. In the morning, Karamir had a wolf cloak of his own. Now, it was back to sparring. Karamir's skills continued to improve, but of course, he was no match for his creator. It continued throughout the day, stopping only for meals and short periods of rest. It was exhausting. Karamir tried to do what Kalmar said, to master his anger. He used his rage to put more force behind his strikes, but he did not allow himself to make excessively reckless swings. Kalmar gave him advice and pointers, on how to position his feet, how to avoid leaving himself open, and reminding him to watch his opponent. When it the sparring ended, they sat down by a fire, and Kalmar began to tell him about the gods. How they were beings of immense power, who were brought by the Architect to make and shape the world. One by one, Kalmar touched a finger to his forehead and transmitted what he knew of each. There was Kalmar himself, God of the Hunt, who only wanted a world where all creatures could survive and better themselves by overcoming adversity, without succumbing to stagnation. There was Phystene. Kalmar's most trusted friend and ally, and perhaps Kalmar had unintentionally shown him too much, because there seemed to be more to it than that. There was Parvus, the aloof, cautious god of insects. Kalmar respected him, but did not count him as a friend or even an ally. There was Orvus, the God of Desolation, Kalmar's enemy, whom he had sworn to kill. And for good reason, Karamir knew. There was Narzhak, the God of Conflict, who thrived on adversity and competition, just like Kalmar. Yet Narzhak drew it into excess and did not seem to think of the consequences, and thus did far more harm than good. There was Asceal, the Goddess of Light. Idealistic, principled, perhaps a bit too quick to judge. There was Li'Kalla, a shy timid creature when Kalmar first met her, yet if stories were true, Vakk had made her into a monster. Vakk was not to be trusted. And more, yet those were the ones Kalmar thought were most important for him to know about. He told him of the mortals, too. [color=orange]"To my knowledge, Hermes was the first mortal,"[/color] Kalmar revealed. [color=orange]"I did not spend long with her. She beat me in a race using magical sandals, and I taught her how to fish."[/color] He shrugged. [color=orange]"Then there was Arya. She was with me the longest. But I might have been too light on her. I don't think she truly grasped the way of the world, and she does not have full mastery over her emotions. This is why I have been so strict."[/color] The Hunter explained, and Karamir couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at this 'Arya', as though she was somehow responsible for this. [color=orange]"Asceal has Liana. I don't know who she is, or what she does, but she exists. And Phystene has Atalantia, who seems to be her advisor on tactics and names."[/color] Kalmar continued. [color=orange]"I haven't met Atalantia yet, so I don't know fore sure. I do know that the mortals I've met were all women, which might make you the first man. Unless someone else has made one before me."[/color] He was silent for a few moments, to let Karamir process this. [color=yellow]"There... there are so few of us?"[/color] Karamir asked in surprise. [color=yellow]"What are we to the gods?"[/color] Kalmar pondered that for a moment, as though he wasn't sure of the answer himself. [color=orange]"Depends on the god. Some might see their creations as their children. Others might see you as tools. Some might simply see you as any other animal. There are few of you now, but some day there will be more."[/color] [color=yellow]"But individually... we're nothing compared to them."[/color] Karamir asked, melancholy heavy in his voice. [color=orange]"Not nothing. Besides, your life has just begun. There is no telling how far you might rise, how strong you might become. Or you might fail, and end up lower than where you started. Not even I know. What I do know is that you have already come a long way."[/color] [color=yellow]"I..."[/color] Karamir wasn't sure what to say to that. Could he become a god? Or even something comparable to a god? And could he truly end up lower than he was already? There were so many questions. How long would it take him to become more powerful? What would he need to do? What challenges must he overcome? What fate awaited him if he failed? But instead, he asked: [color=yellow]"What am I to you?"[/color] [color=orange]"Go to sleep."[/color] Kalmar said, turning away. [hr] [center][color=yellow][u]Day Five[/u][/color][/center] [color=yellow]"You said that, even if I never hunger or take an injury, my life will still end."[/color] Kalmar stopped and looked back. He had taken Karamir out to the forest, and had been teaching him how to forage. At length Kalmar had told him how foraging was often safer than hunting, but it still carried dangers. Other things could hunt them, of course, and not everything they foraged would be safe to consume. He told him which plants were poisonous and which were not. He pointed out animal tracks, and emphasized the importance of keeping eyes on the ground, while still being aware of everything else. [color=orange]"I did."[/color] [color=yellow]"How long?"[/color] Kalmar shrugged. [color=orange]"A few thousand years? More? I only made one of you, so it wasn't hard to give you a long life. Most of my other creations won't even see a fraction of that."[/color] [color=yellow]"You said there might be more of me. How?"[/color] Karamir questioned, coming to a stop. [color=orange]"We gods will make more mortals, and those mortals will reproduce,"[/color] Kalmar answered simply. He too had stopped and seemed somewhat annoyed. [color=yellow]"Reproduce?"[/color] [color=orange]"Yes. With most species, it requires a male and a female. One parent cares for the child, while the other provides for them. There might be exceptions, but that is usually the case. When the child comes of age, and can live on its own, it is expected to care for itself."[/color] Kalmar lectured. [color=yellow]"And I can do that?"[/color] [color=orange]"No."[/color] [color=yellow]"What?"[/color] [color=orange]"No."[/color] Karamir blinked in disappointment. He was silent for some time. [color=yellow]"Why?"[/color] he finally asked. [color=orange]"It would have taken more out of me."[/color] Kalmar answered. [color=yellow]"That... that's it?"[/color] Karamir asked. His surprise faded, and gave way to anger. [color=yellow]"You deprived me an important ability... [i]because you didn't want to put in the extra effort!?"[/i][/color] He yelled. [color=orange]"Control your anger,"[/color] Kalmar snapped. [colour=yellow]"No! You-"[/color] [color=orange]"Control your anger!"[/color] Kalmar repeated, his tone more forceful. [color=orange]"You do not have the ability to reproduce [i]yet[/i]. I may give it to you later. Or some other god might. Why would you even need such an ability when you have no one to reproduce with? And how could you expect to care or provide for your young when you're still learning to provide for yourself?"[/color] Karamir fell silent. He knew that his creator was right, as he had been about so many other things. He did not need such an ability, it was true. Not yet. Kalmar took the silence as compliance, and continued walking. After a moment, Karamir followed. A bitterness still rested within him, yet he focused on the lesson. If he would not be given such a power he would earn it, and if he was to earn it he would need to learn. [hr] [center][color=yellow][u]Day Six[/u][/color][/center] More sparring. Karamir was beginning to enjoy it, despite the bruises. The only thing he had to compare himself to was a god, who was deliberately holding back, but he believed he was good at. He asked if Arya had been this good at fighting, but Kalmar told him to worry about himself instead. If he met this Arya, he would have to test his skill against hers. In between sessions, Kalmar took the time to explain his philosophy. He should not kill for pleasure or without reason. He should use as much of what they kill as possible, in order to prevent waste. He should never make unnecessary war against their own kind. Karamir thought back to the wolves. [color=yellow]"Did they die for no reason?"[/color] [color=orange]"No. We ended up using them, and they taught you a lesson as well. Their deaths were not in vain. What we left behind would have been consumed by other animals, but don't always assume that will be the case."[/color] [color=yellow]"I see."[/color] [color=orange]"Good. Now pick up your staff."[/color] [hr] [center][color=yellow][u]Day Seven[/u][/color][/center] [color=orange]"There is something I think you are ready for,"[/color] Kalmar said, as Karamir picked himself off the ground for the fifth time that day. [color=yellow]"What? What is-"[/color] Karamir asked, but was quickly cut off as Kalmar pressed a finger against his forehead, imbuing his mind with a strange power. [color=orange]"An ability of mine. You can see through the eyes of predators. Your range will be nowhere as great as mine, but you do not need to see that far. It will still be immensely useful."[/color] Karamir was taken aback. [color=yellow]"How?"[/color] [color=orange]"Focus."[/color] That wasn't helpful. But focus he did. He grit his teeth and shut his eyes. What was he supposed to focus on!? Then, he began to sense it. The minds of hundreds of creatures scattered around, and mentally he reached out to one. He found himself staring through the eyes of an eagle, soaring far above the open field, and he could see for miles. Kalmar slapped him and he came back. [color=orange]"You don't have the same awareness as I do,"[/color] he observed. [color=orange]"You will have to be careful where you decide to use that. Try it again."[/color] [hr] [center][color=yellow][u]Day Eight[/u][/color][/center] On the eight day, Kalmar began teaching him something different. How to use a bow. It was difficult. Kalmar refused to let him use the magical bow. Instead, the Hunter had crafted one overnight from wood and strung it with a strong vine. At least he allowed Karamir to use the parrot-feathered arrows, though there didn't seem to be anything overtly magical about them. Perhaps the arrows flew swifter? He didn't know - there was nothing to compare it to beyond the bow that was already powerful to begin with. They took shots at trees, with Kalmar lecturing him on his stance, posture, and aimed. As the day went on, his aim improved considerably. [color=orange]"I think you're ready,"[/color] he finally said, after several hours had passed. [color=yellow]"Ready for what?"[/color] [color=orange]"To shoot a live target."[/color] And with those words, Kalmar grabbed him and they once again flew out over the lake and toward the fields. By now Karamir had mastered his fear of flight, and the height no longer disturbed him. He and Kalmar landed on a small hill, overlooking a herd of deer. [color=orange]"Shoot one,"[/color] Kalmar instructed. Karamir followed the steps as he remembered them. In the light of the setting sun, he assumed the proper stance, notched an arrow, took a breath, drew the string back, aimed slightly above that which he wished to hit, and loosed. The arrow struck true, but it did not kill. Kalmar quickly resolved that, sending another arrow into the animal's skull as it limped away. [color=orange]"Well done, for only a day's practice. Your aim will improve. Now we skin it."[/color] And so they descended the hill. Kalmar pulled out the Knife of Friendship, and proceeded to butcher the deer for meat and skin while Karamir observed their surroundings. They then returned to the island, and after a meal of venison, Karamir went to sleep, using his wolf pelt as a blanket. [hr] [center][color=yellow][u]Day Nine[/u][/color][/center] When Karamir awoke, there were clothes waiting for him. [color=yellow]"What are these?"[/color] He asked Kalmar, who sat on a log with an unknown object clenched in his fist. [color=orange]"I fashioned them from the deer we killed yesterday. They will keep you warm and shield you from the elements. Put them on."[/color] Kalmar answered, staring at his fist. So, he did. Equipped with his rough tunic and wolfpelt cloak, he turned to look at his maker. [color=yellow]"Why are you giving me this?"[/color] [color=orange]"I just told you."[/color] The Hunter answered indifferently. [color=yellow]"But why now?"[/color] Karamir demanded impatiently. Kalmar looked up, and for a moment Karamir thought he saw an emotion he could not quite place. [color=orange]"It's time for you to leave,"[/color] Kalmar answered. [color=yellow]"What? Why? When will I be back?"[/color] [color=orange]"I taught you the essentials, but I can't guide you forever. You must learn to survive without me watching over you. You must be able to learn on your own."[/color] [color=yellow]"But... I did everything you said."[/color] Karamir protested, his tone more confused than hurt. [color=orange]"You did. And now you must apply what I have taught you."[/color] [color=yellow]"But why!? Why did you create me if you're just going to send me away!?"[/color] Karamir demanded, suddenly angry. [color=yellow]"You expose me to pain after pain, you tell me it's for a reason, you tell me I can become stronger if I listen to you, and then you cast me out!?"[/color] [color=orange]"Casting you out is how I make you stronger. But I will never be away from you. Not truly. If you need my guidance, simply clear your mind and think of me, and I will talk to you. I would prefer that you rely on your own judgement. Also..."[/color] suddenly the metal Knife of Friendship appeared in Karamir's hand. [color=orange]"I loan you my knife."[/color] [color=yellow]"That's it?"[/color] Karamir asked. His rage had faded somewhat, yet this felt like a poor reward for all he had been through, and it hardly left him content to go roam the wilds with no purpose beyond 'survive to become stronger.' [color=orange]"No,"[/color] Kalmar rose from the rock, and picked up a nearby spear - this one was fashioned with bone. He pressed the spear into Karamir's other hand, and once again pressed a finger against the young Mortal's head. Once again, Karamir felt filled with power. [color=orange]"I enhance your combat abilities. Few can match you with a spear. I make you odorless - your body, the clothes you wear, and the items you carry will no longer carry an odor. I enhance your awareness - you will rarely miss a detail; your eyes will rival a and your nose will rival a wolf."[/color] Karamir was taken aback. [color=yellow]"I... wha..."[/color] Between the news and all these gifts, how was he supposed to react. Somehow, he composed himself. [color=yellow]"Why didn't you give me these things when you created me!?"[/color] he demanded. [color=yellow]"What was all that training for?"[/color] [color=orange]"So you would not take your abilities for granted."[/color] Kalmar countered. [color=orange]"If you had been created with them, you would be unable to appreciate how much effort other creatures must go to in order to even come close to your skills. You would have become arrogant and impulsive."[/color] Kalmar opened his fist, and pressed something into the hand that also held the knife. Before Karamir could see what it was, Kalmar gripped him by the wrist, and flew him across the lake before more questions could be asked. Then, Kalmar set him down, but did not land alongside him. [color=yellow]"I... no! You don't know that!"[/color] Karamir shouted. [color=orange]"It doesn't matter what I know or don't know. It is what it is. I gave you the skills you need, one way or another. What happens next is up to you. Go. Survive, adapt, experience. And don't die. It will make me sad."[/color] With those words, Kalmar turned and flew away. Karamir watched his creator depart with mixed feelings. Gratitude, happiness, sadness, regret, anger, confusion, shock. Too many emotions to process. He looked down at the final gift Kalmar had pressed into his hand. A wooden carving, of... a wolf. That was what Kalmar had called them. For a moment, he turned it over curiously. Then, he threw it into the sea. It was a useless trinket. It would not help him survive. With that, he turned away, still not certain how he should feel. But there was thing he was certain of. He would survive, he would adapt, he would experience. He would not be a failure. [hr] [hider=Summary] Kalmar decides to create a single mortal, who he names Karamir. Over the course of nine days, he puts Karamir through a tough and brutal regime, educating and training him in the ways of survival. He learns how to fight, fish, hunt, forage, and shoot. Their interactions are tense, as Karamir demands to know more about his purpose and his place in the world, with Kalmar doing his best to answer but not all of those answers being satisfactory. Kalmar reveals that Karamir will one day die of old age. Though that day might be several thousand years away, it will come nonetheless. Karamir is also told that he is infertile, but that status may change if he proves himself to either Kalmar or a different god. Kalmar arms him, teaches him some abilities, and sends him on his way. Karamir is not happy, but resolves to succeed. [/hider] [hider=Might Summary] [u]Kalmar[/u] -0MP (1-1, discounted by Hunting Portfolio) to teach Karamir a less effective version of Hunter's Sight - it has a range of one hundred kilometers. -0MP (1-1, discounted by Hunting Portfolio) to make Karamir odorless, which also extends to whatever Karamir happens to be wearing or carrying. -0MP (1-1, discounted by Hunting Portfolio) to heighten Karamir's senses. -1MP to turn Karamir into an excellent fighter. [b]Remaining MP:[/b] 2 [b]Remaining FP:[/b] 1 [u]Portfolios in Progress[/u] -Fishing (3/5) -Foraging (5/5) -Archery (1/5) [/hider]